MURD 201: Exam 1
by Alyssa Blackbourn
Summary: NOTE: CANNOT BE READ WITHOUT FIRST READING MURD 201: SYLLABUS BY HAVEN126. Murdoc's class is in session, and these lessons are brutal. The curve can't save them, and maybe Mac can't, either.
1. Lecture 1

**STOP! Before you read this story, you MUST read the following: MURD 201: Syllabus by Haven126. Seriously, this will not make sense if you don't.**

 **That said, my eternal thanks and gratitude go to Haven126 for the unwavering support, co-plotting, editing, and co-authoring. I'm really not good at this. She's awesome. Let's continue. ON WITH THE SHOW!**

* * *

"Hey, Jack, grab the toolkit out of the back?" Jack could practically hear the gears in Mac's head turning as he spoke, and the former Delta gave a slight smirk, pivoting in the gravel towards the back of the Jeep.

He never saw the gunman; the bullet tore mercilessly through his body, the sound hitting his ears a fraction of a second later. He fell back, slamming hard into the pavement, feeling his skull bounce on the gravel. His head rolled, and he saw Mac leap up from his place crouched beside Elliot's bike. He tried to warn his partner when he saw the man they'd stopped to help pull a taser, but he couldn't find his voice. Mac went down hard, his whole body seizing up. Elliot pulled a syringe from his pocket, and Jack was helpless to stop him from brushing Mac's hair aside and inserting the needle into his neck

Mac was in danger. He had to move, had to get up, had to do something. He tried to push himself to his feet, but it was almost like he was paralyzed. He could only manage to move his arm, trying to reach for his gun...but it wasn't there. And of course it wasn't—he didn't need a gun to plant trees.

 _Come on, kid, stay with me,_ Jack implored in his mind, sucking in a sharp breath as he tried to breathe through the worst of the pain. His eyes were locked on his partner, wanting more than anything to get up, get him out of there, protect him, but there was nothing he could do; his body wasn't listening to him. He watched helplessly as his partner started to gather his arms under himself, like he was about to crawl towards him, and Jack mentally begged him to do so. He hardly heard his shooter's footsteps as Drew came closer, even though the sound drew the younger agent's eye. Mac never got the chance to move; Jack was forced to watch as Mac's eyes fell shut and his body went limp on the gravel shoulder. It wasn't until after Mac was out cold that he shifted his anger- and pain-filled eyes to the gunman. Drew was aiming his weapon at Jack's chest, grinning down at him. What Jack wouldn't give to be able to get up and smack that grin off his smug little face...

"Sorry about this, Jack," his shooter's voice was quiet to Jack's ears, echoey, distant. His vision was starting to blur as blood continued to leak from his wounds. "I really did like you."

Jack wanted to retort, but he couldn't catch his breath. He heard gravel scraping, and looked back over to see Elliot dragging Mac towards the Jeep, the headlights catching his blond hair, which was falling in his face. The former Delta didn't think, didn't hesitate; he started trying to pull himself over to his partner's side, not caring when pain shot through him, nor when Drew began laughing. The shooter put his foot on Jack's chest, pushing him down again easily.

"Don't strain yourself," the younger man advised with a sneer as his boyfriend opened the back door of Mac's Jeep and began hefting the unconscious agent inside. He was so close, literally just inches away...Jack reached for him, his hand closing around a handful of his partner's jeans, holding on like his life—and Mac's—depended on it, panic lending him strength. But, with how much blood he'd already lost, that strength wasn't enough, and it was all too easy for Elliot to pry his fingers off of the fabric and continue with his task. Drew laughed at his efforts, looking amused. "What did you think that was going to do, Jack? Just give it up."

Jack glared up at him, wanting desperately to fight, to do something, but he was barely conscious at that point. Drew was right; there was nothing he could do. But still, he tried. He reached up with a shaking hand and tried to push Drew's foot off of him. His movements were slow and weak as his body tried desperately to stay conscious, trying to pull air into his damaged and bleeding lungs. Drew laughed at him again, but stepped off the man anyway, crouching down beside him.

"You know, I don't know if I'm being kind or cruel by not killing you right now," he admitted, his voice soft and eyes studying Jack's face intently as the agent watched his partner get shoved into the back of the Jeep, Elliot grunting with the effort. "On the one hand, I'm giving you a chance. On the other, the odds of it making one damn bit of difference are slim, and even if you do make it...once you see what we're gonna do to your boy, you're gonna wish I'd killed you anyway. But, you know what they say: if you're good at something, don't do it for free."

"If you're done, babe," Elliot sighed, sounding a bit perturbed that he'd been left to do all the heavy lifting, "we should get going."

"He gets jealous sometimes," Drew shrugged, standing up. "I'd love to stay and chat some more, Jack, I really would, but we're on a bit of a tight schedule. I'd say 'see you around,' but, well..."

He gave him a small smirk, then turned and walked back towards the bike as Elliot climbed behind the wheel of the Jeep. Both vehicles started easily, and this was when Jack started to really panic. They were going to kill Mac; he had to do something. But, as he tried in vain to get to his feet, he was again reminded that there was nothing he could do. He was dying; that much was obvious, and it made fury well up inside him, a second rush of adrenaline that lent him strength he didn't know he had. It came too late. By the time he could even maneuver himself into a remotely mobile position—on his stomach rather than his back—Elliot and Drew had already driven off, Mac with them. Desperation fueled his rush and his blood loss, giving him strength and slowing him down at the same time. Gritting his teeth, he started dragging himself across the gravel in the direction his attackers had gone, feeling agony shoot through him with every motion. Some part of him knew it was a pointless endeavor, but hey—at least when they found his body, they'd know which way Mac had been taken. If he could spare them even a few minutes of search time, it might make all the difference.

Just as he'd lost the strength to keep pulling himself forward, a car came around the bend, the headlights blinding him. It came to a stop in front of him, and the last thing he saw before he was finally pulled into unconsciousness was a tall, dark silhouette coming towards him.

* * *

When the wounded agent finally came to again, the first thing he noticed was the tube down his throat. His first thought was a four-letter word, uneasiness that he tried to suppress stirring in him. Listening, he could hear the ventilator it was attached to, the steady beeping of his heart monitor. God, did he hate ventilators. To have such a base action as breathing taken out of his control was always unsettling. But, that discomfort did help shake his mind of the effects of the pain meds and sedation he was undoubtedly on. His eyes remained closed, partly due to how heavy his eyelids were, partly due to the fact that he didn't want to open his eyes only to be told that they'd been too late to save his partner. Whatever Elliot and Drew had wanted Mac for, it certainly didn't sound like they were planning on keeping him alive for too long. Jack was hit pretty badly, so if he'd been taken to the hospital, gone through surgery, and had the chance to wake up, that meant a lot of time had passed. Maybe too much time.

Still, he knew he couldn't keep his eyes closed forever, so, after working up the courage, he pried them open. He first noticed Riley and Bozer sitting to his left, Bozer sprawled in his chair and snoring ever-so-softly, Riley with her feet up on his nightstand and arms folded over her chest. They both looked so tired. He probably put them through hell, not answering calls, showing up in the hospital without Mac...he could have prevented that if he'd just told Mac to keep driving...

The former Delta blinked, trying to keep his tears at bay, and slowly dragged his eyes around the room. He found Kyser, awake but apparently enthralled in the book he was reading, his feet up on the edge of his hospital bed. It was comforting to see him there. Finally, he pulled his eyes away, settling his gaze on the fourth person in the room, expecting it to be Matty or maybe another member of the tac team, but he could have sworn his heart skipped a beat when he saw Mac's messy blond hair falling in his face as he rested his head on the edge of Jack's bed, using his arm as a pillow, wearing a hospital gown and a pair of sweats. Like Bozer and Riley, he looked utterly exhausted, his face tense even as he slept. But he was alive. This time, Jack couldn't keep the tears back, and he lifted a shaking hand, placing it on the younger man's arm. The action was enough to wake his partner with a bit of a jolt, and Mac sat up, rubbing his eyes a bit before he realized that Jack's hand was on his arm. The agent slowly lifted his eyes from his arm up to his partner's face, and when he saw his eyes open, he let out a shuddering breath.

"Jack," the relief in the younger man's voice was immense, but it wasn't the only emotion in his tone and expression; Jack also detected distress and worry, which didn't surprise him much, but also fear, which made dread settle in his stomach. If Mac was still scared, it probably wasn't over.

Hearing Mac say Jack's name made Kyser look up from his book. When he saw his long-time friend awake, he gave a warm smile, standing up and moving to rouse their two sleeping friends.

"Jack, hey," Mac struggled to find his words. "How're you feeling?"

Jack didn't bother trying to speak, instead giving a thumbs up with the hand closest to his partner. His eyes asked the same question in return, and Mac nodded.

"I'm okay," he promised. "Really, I am."

Jack gave the smallest of nods, allowing him to believe that he believed him for now. He shifted his eyes to Riley and Bozer as both woke up and subsequently leapt to his side.

"Hey, old man," Riley's eyes glistened when she spoke, but she refused to let herself cry. "You really scared the hell out of us."

A nonverbal apology was the best Jack could offer, but it was enough for Riley, who smiled at him. His next question was nearly as obvious as his first as he looked at each of them: What happened?

Riley and Bozer both opened their mouths to explain everything to him, but Mac beat them to it.

"When I woke up, Drew and Elliot had me set up in a warehouse," he told his partner. His friends looked at him in surprise, but they said nothing, allowing him to be the one to break the news to his partner. "Apparently, someone put out a contract on me. They were going to kill me, make a video of it and send it off to whoever was paying them. I was strapped down to a chair, handcuffed. It wasn't looking good for me, honestly, but...even though Drew was a pro, Elliot definitely wasn't. He was always close to me. I was able to get one of my hands free. I grabbed Elliot, used him to get Drew to let me out of the chair...obviously, that wasn't going to work forever, so I ended up having to fight them off. I got outside and I ran, found my way to a gas station, and called Matty, but...Drew and Elliot got away."

It was a pile of horse shit. Jack knew it even before he saw Mac shoot a silencing glare at the other three in the room, who were looking at the blond agent in confusion, before he saw their nervous smiles, before he saw Kyser's jaw twitch. A daring escape the way Mac had just told it wouldn't have even gotten him admitted to the hospital, much less land him in a hospital gown with an IV. It wouldn't have left the kid looking so sick, so broken, so utterly terrified, even if his attackers hadn't been caught yet. At the very least, he could say with certainty that if he'd really fought someone off, he would at least have some bruises to show for it, but Jack could see no injuries, least of all to his knuckles. And he sure as hell wanted to call him on it, to get the real story, to try and figure out what he could do to help, so he reached up with his right hand, dead set on pulling that damned tube out of his throat. Kyser was there in an instant, intercepting his hand and putting it back down on the bed.

"No way in hell, Dalton," the medic laughed, but his eyes held a warning. "Your lungs aren't ready to breathe on their own. You so much as think about touching that tube, and I swear to God, I will have you restrained."

Jack glared at him, his eyes dangerous, but Kyser just rolled his eyes.

"Oh, please," he scoffed. "Don't give me that look. I could literally take you down with my pinky finger right now, Jack. You're not going anywhere and neither is that tube; deal with it."

Again, all Jack could do was glare, but eventually, he blinked in acceptance, deciding that he could let Mac think he got away with his lie for now. Kyser smirked at his victory.

"Alright," the medic's voice was much softer this time. "I'm going to go find the doctor, let her know you're awake. Mac, Bozer, and Riley, you guys should really get something to eat; you've been here all night."

His suggestion was met by a chorus of "no"s and "we're not leaving him alone"s, but Jack silenced them by simply lifting his hands a bit to get their attention and giving them a small nod, encouraging them to go. Best not to spew piles of bullshit on an empty stomach. God, he couldn't wait to call them out...

Reluctantly, the three young Phoenix agents nodded and slowly filed out, Mac dragging his IV pole with him. When Kyser opened the door, Jack saw Simmons waiting in the hallway, and when he saw their convoy, he started to move in to take their place and keep him company. For a moment, Jack was excited; at least he might be able to get some truth out of Simmons. But, before he headed in, Kyser stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder and telling him something that Jack couldn't make out—probably looping him in on the bullshit story they'd decided to tell him. Simmons gave a nod, then headed into the room, closing the door behind him. Jack looked at him expectantly, and Simmons knew in an instant that he didn't buy the story Mac was trying to sell.

"What can I say, Jack?" Simmons shrugged, carefully compartmentalizing his emotions and concerns, keeping the excellent poker face that Jack had on more than one occasion cursed him for. "Mac pulled off an amazing feat."

At this, Jack just rolled his eyes and settled in. Until he could argue, he was just going to have to suffer in silence.

* * *

Bozer waited until Simmons had gone into Jack's room and closed the door before he turned to Mac.

"So, what the hell was that?" he asked his best friend and roommate, raising an eyebrow.

"We can't tell Jack about Murdoc," Mac told them, his tone serious as he looked each of them in the eye. "At least not yet. Just...let him recover some, guys. Let him heal. There's nothing he can do about it, so there's no point in telling him; it'll just upset him. We'll tell him when he gets out of here, okay? Until then...he almost died, guys. I thought I watched him die. Murdoc's playing the long game; Jack's gonna need as much recovery time as he can get. He needs to rest. Agreed?"

Bozer and Riley nodded, looking down at the floor, Riley folding her arms over her chest almost as though she were cold. After he'd recovered enough to speak, Matty had come by, and Mac had told all of them the highlights of his experience earlier, including the part where Murdoc had told him he was going to target each and every one of them. Kyser was the only one who didn't respond, and Mac settled his eyes on him.

"Kyser," he got the man's attention, the medic lifting his eyes from the floor to meet his gaze. "Agreed?"

"Murdoc's targeting him, too, Mac," Kyser reminded him slowly.

"I know," Mac's voice trembled when he spoke, heavy with dozens of emotions. "Believe me, Kyser, I know that better than anyone."

"He deserves to know," the medic stated, his jaw twitching slightly.

"He does," Mac agreed. "And he will. But not now. Just let him rest. Murdoc is not going to come after him first; he's got time."

"How do you know that?" Kyser challenged. He'd been Jack's friend for over a decade. They'd been to hell and back together; keeping something this serious from him, even to protect him, didn't feel right.

"Because," the traumatized agent let out a trembling breath and shot an apologetic glance in Riley's direction, "he wants to torture me. He's going to come after everyone else first before he comes after me, and...and he wants to kill me and Jack together. Make us...watch each other die."

His friends stared at him in horror, and Mac cleared his throat, blinking hard and shaking his head to clear away unwanted memories.

"The point is, Jack doesn't need to know right now," he said firmly. "Please, Kyser; just let him think that Drew and Elliot are the worst of our problems right now. Please."

Kyser hesitated, then gave a quick nod. "Okay," he agreed, some reluctance remaining in his eyes. "Okay, agreed. We won't tell him for now."

"Thank you," Mac's gratitude was sincere. He started to walk off in search of that food he'd agreed to eat, but he stopped.

"Oh, and..." he turned back to his three companions, looking each of them in the eye. "Don't tell him what Drew was going to do to me, either. Like, ever. He...he doesn't need to know that. It didn't happen, so there's no point. All it would do is make him feel worse than he already will."

This request, none of them protested, and Mac nodded appreciatively at them. Then he, Riley, and Bozer made their way towards the cafeteria—picking up a couple members of the tac team, nearly a dozen of whom were helping secure the floor, as they went—and Kyser let out a weary sigh, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing back at his friend's hospital room. After a moment or two, he shook his head and pulled out his phone, texting Matty to let her know what they were doing—she was poring over the evidence left at the scene—then set off in search of the doctor.

* * *

Three Days Later

* * *

Jack looked back and forth between Simmons and Kyser, watching the two men do their best to busy themselves with something else. The agent had gotten the tube taken out of his throat a couple hours ago. Since then, he'd been trying to get someone to tell him the truth about what happened, but they were sticking to their story. But, up until that point, he hadn't been able to get Simmons or Kyser alone. Now he had them both.

"Alright," the wounded man's voice was weak and scratchy, but it got their attention. "What really happened, guys? No bullshit; just tell me what went down."

"Don't know what you're talking about, Dalton," Simmons shrugged, turning to face him more, his face and body relaxed, giving nothing away. Kyser, on the other hand, looked down at the floor, his arms folded over his chest. "It happened the way Mac told it."

"That's bullshit, Simmons," Jack didn't hesitate to call his friend out, ignoring the pain in his throat, his pent-up frustration allowing him to block it out. "We both know it. Elliot and Drew wouldn't make Mac as scared as he clearly is. His story doesn't add up; if he'd had to fight his way out of anywhere, he would have had at least one bruise to show for it, and there's hardly a scratch on him. What the hell happened to my partner, guys? Someone needs to tell me; I can't protect him if I don't know."

"Even if there were something going on," Simmons sighed, "it's not like you're in much shape to protect anyone at the moment. You just got shot, Jack; let us worry about this for now. Take some time to heal."

"Fuck that," Jack growled irritably. "That kid is my responsibility, Simmons. I need to know what's going on."

"There's not some big conspiracy," Simmons insisted. "Mac is fine, Jack. We'll find Drew and Elliot. We will take care of this; just rest."

Jack glowered at him, realizing that he wasn't getting anywhere with him, then shifted his eyes to Kyser.

"Kyser," his voice cracked in the middle of the man's name. "Please. Tell me what's going on. The kid is terrified; he's not hiding that very well. He's clearly not sleeping much, he's jumping at the slightest sound, he's never relaxed...What happened to him? What the hell is going on that's so terrible that no one will tell me?"

The medic hesitated. He wanted to keep his promise to Mac, but he still wholeheartedly believed that Jack had every right to know. He also believed that Jack was, frankly, a much easier target the longer he was left out of the loop. So, with a sigh, the medic nodded.

"Kyser," Simmons warned, shooting him a glare.

"He needs to know, Grant," Kyser growled. Simmons hesitated, glancing between Jack and Kyser, then dipped his head, waving an arm in Jack's direction as if to tell Kyser to get on with it. The medic let out a weary sigh, grabbing a chair and pulling it closer to Jack's bedside, taking a seat as he tried to gather his thoughts.

"Most of what Mac told you was true," Kyser began. "The warehouse, why he was targeted, the fact that Drew was a pro...that was all true. But he didn't escape, Jack. Not on his own."

"So...what? You guys found him? Why would he lie about that?" Jack's brow furrowed in confusion.

"We never found him," Kyser shook his head. "We didn't even know where to look."

"Then what the hell happened?" Jack's confusion gave way to frustration.

"Drew and Elliot are both dead, Jack," Kyser told him, watching the frustration transform into shock. "They were going to kill Mac. He couldn't get away. He was likely going to die. But then...then Murdoc showed up."

"What?" the word barely made it past Jack's lips, and it was breathy and hard to decipher when he did, his voice all but failing him.

"Jack, just let me get through this," Kyser implored, and Jack's blood ran cold. Very few things could rattle the medic before him; he'd seen the man truly upset only a handful of times in the decade they'd known each other. Seeing him in such a state now...something truly awful must have happened. The former Delta gave a slight nod, and Kyser let out a breath before he continued.

"It turns out, Drew was part of the Collective," he explained. "Murdoc was hunting him down, and he came in, killed Elliot, and tased and drugged Drew. Then he dosed Mac with a muscle relaxant. The kid was essentially a prisoner in his own body. He couldn't move or speak, but he was fully aware of what was going on. Murdoc...he made Mac watch him torture Drew to death. It took all night. Murdoc left him when it was over, and Mac had to stay with the body until the drugs wore off. And through all that, Jack, he thought you were dead. Of course he's scared."

Jack felt sick to his stomach as he turned to stare up at the ceiling. No wonder the kid didn't want to talk about it. He couldn't really fault him for that. But something still wasn't sitting right with him, and he shook his head.

"No," he grumbled, catching Kyser's eye again, his voice straining and painful just to listen to. "No, that's not it. That's not all. That's awful and he would absolutely be scared, but the kid isn't just scared; he's utterly terrified. Murdoc has gotten away before and he has never been this scared. Something else went down, Kyser; tell me."

"Jack," Simmons began, his voice regretful and overly gentle, telling his friend that he was going to try and mislead him.

"Stop!" Jack snapped, his hoarse voice cracking, which only made his anger worse. "Stop bullshitting me, Simmons; tell me what is going on!"

"Grant, he really should know," Kyser chimed in.

"We promised Mac, and he doesn't need to know it right now," Simmons snapped at him, knowing there was no point in denying something was up anymore. "I don't like it either, but what would be the point, anyway? There's nothing he can do about it, it's just going to upset him more, and you should know _better_ than I do that that'll just make his recovery take longer. Isn't it better for him to be able to relax and heal faster so that he _can_ do something?"

"If it were you, you'd want to know," Kyser growled.

"Yeah but it doesn't mean I _should_ know!" Simmons shot back. "Besides, Matty agrees with Mac."

"Guys, I am right here," Jack reminded them irritably. "And Simmons, either someone tells me what the hell is going on, or I will check myself out against medical advice and go home right now, no Phoenix protection."

"Jack, come on; that's a little extreme," Simmons rolled his eyes. "You can barely sit up, and that would mean you'd be off your painkillers."

"Yeah?" Jack raised an eyebrow and locked eyes with the younger man. "Try me."

Kyser and Simmons looked at each other, a conversation passing between them. Finally, Simmons dipped his head in acceptance, and Kyser turned to Jack.

"You've got to promise not to freak out, Jack," Kyser warned. "And try to remember that everyone was just trying to protect you."

Jack fought the urge to scoff; it was _his_ job to protect _them_ , and it was a job he took seriously. He couldn't help but be a little offended that they thought he couldn't do his job, regardless of the circumstances. Finally, he nodded in agreement.

"Okay," Kyser sighed. He cleared his throat and resettled in his seat, gathering his thoughts.

"Murdoc...when Drew was dead, he told Mac that he was going to come after everyone he cared about—you, Matty, Bozer, Riley, and Mac himself—and torture them the same way he tortured Drew," the medic explained.

"And that way would be...?" Jack's jaw tightened at his words.

"With his worst fear," Kyser replied. "Mac avoided a lot of the details, Jack, but the scene was _bad_. For your sake and the sake of the lunch I just ate, I'm not going to tell you what was found, but...it was bad. Trust me on that."

Jack swallowed hard, then turned towards Simmons in anger.

"And you didn't think that was something I should know?" he demanded furiously. "He could come after any of us—including me—at any moment, and that wasn't something you thought I'd need to know?"

"It's absolutely something you need to know," Simmons countered. "When you're in a position to do anything about it. Until then, what's the point of being stressed? Matty is taking care of you guys; this whole floor is secure, and Mac, Riley, and Bozer aren't going anywhere without at least two tac team members. There's no reason to freak out, Jack; we've got this."

"No reason to freak out?" Jack's broken voice was rising in volume as his heart began to pick up speed. "That maniac is coming after me and my family and _there's no reason to freak out?!_ "

"Jack, you need to calm down," Kyser cautioned. His words seemed to make something snap inside the wounded man; he lashed out, knocking everything off of the tray positioned in front of him and rounding on the medic.

"Do not tell me to calm down, Kyser," Jack snapped, instantly regretting the movement but hiding the pain on his face. "You should have told me. I deserved to know."

Before either man could say anything, the door opened, revealing a very concerned-looking Mac. The younger agent looked at the three of them, and his jaw twitched.

"You told him," he said quietly. It wasn't a question.

"He needed to know," Kyser shrugged helplessly.

"Enough," Jack interrupted before they could say anything else, still clearly furious. He pointed at Kyser and Simmons. "You two, out; Mac, we need to talk."

Mac dipped his head, swallowing hard, and slowly made his way into the room, scratching his chest through the fabric of his t-shirt until Kyser came by and smacked his hand.

"Quit scratching it," he ordered sternly, a finger in the younger man's face. Mac held his hands up in surrender, clasping them behind his back to prove a point. Kyser gave him a look, then he and Simmons exited the room, closing the door behind them and leaving the partners alone. Mac slowly made his way over to Jack's side, lowering himself into the chair Kyser had vacated, looking down and rubbing his hands together nervously.

"You should have told me," Jack stated firmly, his voice straining and anger in his expression. "I thought we agreed, no more secrets. Hell, we agreed to that the last time Murdoc got his hands on you. I needed to know, Mac; you had no right to keep this from me."

"I was trying to protect you, Jack," Mac offered lamely.

"Keeping me in the dark about this does not protect me!" Jack snapped, starting to regret knocking his water away. "If anything, it makes me more vulnerable! You had no right, Mac. None. What on Earth made you think differently?"

"You almost _died_ , Jack," Mac growled quietly, the desperation and fear in his glistening eyes making Jack settle back on his bed, concern mingling with the anger in his expression. "And this time was different. I thought you were dead. The last thing I saw before I passed out was you on the ground, bleeding out, obviously hit in the lung, with Drew's gun aimed at your chest. That stretch of road is rarely traveled at night. Elliot told me you were dead. Murdoc told me you were dead. Drew practically told me you were dead. You were dead, Jack."

Mac's voice broke when he said those words, and he wiped at his leaking eyes and cleared his throat before he continued. "As far as I knew, as far as any logic could tell me, you were gone. And I was alone. But then I found out you were alive. I know you, Jack; at the very mention of Murdoc you would have been out of here, trying to track him down, and you needed to rest. You needed to heal. You still do. Murdoc is not coming after you first, so there was no reason to get you worked up about it. I need you, Jack. I need you with me on this, and I need you at a hundred percent. We all do. You obsessing over what happened to me, worrying about when Murdoc's going to kick off his little game, pushing yourself to be ready before you really are, was not going to do you any favors, and we both know that's exactly what you would have done. I wasn't going to keep you out of the loop forever, Jack; just until you got out of here. I'm sorry. I really am. You think I enjoyed lying to you? I didn't. But I think you're going to have to accept the fact that we want to protect you just as badly as you want to protect us."

Jack stared at him for a long time, processing what he'd said. He was still mad. That much, he was sure of. But was he still mad at Mac? That wasn't as clear. Finally, the former Delta looked down and nodded, swallowing hard.

"Okay," he said at last. "Okay, here's the deal: I don't hold this against you, Mac. I don't. I know you were only doing what you thought was best for me, and honestly, if we're gonna go up against Murdoc again, we can't be fighting each other, too."

Mac let out a slow, shaky breath, relief flooding his expression as he blinked back tears.

"But," Jack continued, catching and keeping his partner's eyes. "No more lies, brother. We can't do this if we're lying to each other. We start lying to each other and he'll tear us apart, and the only way we're gonna get through this is together. Deal?"

"Deal," Mac agreed readily.

"Good," Jack nodded. "Then, in that case, any details you may have are gonna be important, Mac. I know you don't want to relive what happened, man—I don't want that for you, either—but you're going to have to, okay?"

Mac hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in his chair before nodding.

"Good," Jack said again, giving his partner an encouraging and reassuring smile. "Then tell me everything."

* * *

 **So...yeah. This is a thing we're doing. It's gonna get crazy and intense, the way we've plotted it. Also, each exam is gonna be its own story. Hope you guys are down for the ride! Let me know what you think!**

 **PS: No, I have not given up on the other story of mine. My brain just wouldn't shut up about this one.**


	2. Lecture 2

**More official author's note coming at the end, but I'm gonna just grab you real quick to say a few things. First of all, thank you as always to the lovely Haven126 for all of the invaluable help provided, and thank you as well to all of you for being so patient. Second of all, y'all strap in because this is long as FUCK.**

* * *

Mac jolted upright, almost falling out of his chair, when his alarm on his phone went off. With a groan, he pulled himself closer to his desk and picked up his phone, cancelling the alarm as he rubbed his eyes. It was six in the morning, and it was time to start getting ready for work.

Before he even moved a muscle, though, he pulled up his messages and opened up the group chat he had for him, Jack, Riley, Boze, and Matty. It was also time for his morning check-in, something he had gotten the team into a habit of doing. Check-in codes changed daily, and were given verbally in person at the Phoenix by whichever member of the group won the rock-paper-scissors battle at the end of the day. Last night, Jack won, and had given each member of the team a superhero alter-ego, something he'd apparently been thinking long and hard about since their trip to Chernobyl.

Bozer was Mr. Fantastic on the grounds of him being able to change his face with prosthetics. Matty was Phoenix because she ran the Phoenix Foundation and, like Jean Grey, she scared Jack just a little bit. Jack himself was Captain America "for obvious reasons." After some "careful consideration," Riley had been assigned Professor X because if anyone was going to put on a helmet and jack into the Matrix, it was her. They tried telling him that wasn't _quite_ what Professor X did, but he did not care. Mac was given Havok. When questioned about this, Jack had responded with, "Well, Mac blows stuff up a lot, causes a lot of destruction, both are crazy smart, and I dunno...he just kinda _looks_ like him..."

The team had unanimously decided that they didn't know what he was talking about on that front, but Jack was persistent, and none of them had been in the mood to argue.

The check-in required each of them to respond with their hero and their hero's secret (or not so secret) identity. Matty had checked in first an hour earlier with "Jean Grey is Phoenix."

Forty-five minutes later, Riley had chimed in with "Charles Xavier is Professor X."

Bozer replied at almost the same time with "Reed Richards is Mr. Fantastic."

Nothing from Jack yet, but he was still recovering, and it was still very early, so Mac refused to let himself worry. Instead, he sent in his check-in: "Alex Summers is Havok."

With this, he put his phone down and dragged his hands down his face. Like most nights in the month since Jack was shot, he hadn't slept well—something that was highlighted by the fact that he'd once again fallen asleep at his desk instead of in his bed. He'd taken several precautions to keep Murdoc at bay, but still, sleep did not come easy, and when it did come, it was often plagued with nightmares.

His room was also a bit of a cave, now, with all the blinds drawn, blocking out the view he loved but also keeping any prying eyes at bay. His windows and the French doors leading out to the deck were all locked and rigged with trip wires that would pull the pin on one of several sound grenades he had set up, should someone come through them. He had a similar setup for his bedroom door, which he now closed at night. He'd done the same rigging for Bozer's room, and Riley's upon her request.

Together with Riley, he'd also set up a way to be certain that they were getting home okay: inside their walls, by the front door, was a device developed by another agency that could read the EKG signature of any person in the room, activated by a motion detector. If an unauthorized signature was recorded, an alert was sent to the other group members' phones, as well as Riley's computer and a designated satphone that they'd trusted to Simmons, with option to view the security cameras that were now set up in their homes. After viewing the cameras, they had the option to either ignore the alert or send it straight to the Phoenix.

Mac and Bozer had five cameras—one light bulb camera inside and outside the front and back door, and a more obvious camera outside the front door. Jack and Riley both had three—a light bulb camera installed outside their apartment, one inside, and a more obvious camera inside. Matty, of course, had her whole house wired, and had even further updated her security system since the encounter. Each of these systems were also set up to send out an alert should they be deactivated for whatever reason.

Needless to say, Mac was making sure that everyone's homes were as fortified as they could possibly be. Or, at least, he was trying to. So far, they'd heard nothing from Murdoc, but Mac knew better than to take that for granted.

The agent stood up and stretched his tight muscles, several joints cracking beneath his skin, and rubbed the back of his neck as he headed for his bedroom door. He reached up and unhooked the trip wire at the top corner of the door, then pulled it open, heading for the bathroom. This whole situation was wearing him down. That was Murdoc's point, of course; he was doing all the heavy lifting, now. He was paranoid, barely sleeping, beyond tense...he was playing into exactly what Murdoc wanted, and the worst part was that there was nothing he could do about it; if he just ignored the threat and relaxed, he'd be making himself and his friends easy targets. If he refused to look at the evidence, refused to chase down every dead-end lead, they would be sitting ducks when Murdoc finally decided to make his move. But if he stressed about the threat, studied the evidence, and chased every dead end, he pushed himself past his limits and wasn't as sharp as he probably needed to be. It was a Catch 22 of the worst kind. Mac knew he was giving his enemy exactly what he wanted, but he didn't have another good option; at least, this way, he might be able to catch Murdoc before he could come after them in the first place.

Although, he knew that that was also, very likely, impossible. Murdoc didn't leave anything that he didn't mean to leave. Some of it may give him some sort of clues, but none of it would lead them directly to him. He was far too meticulous for that. It was Murdoc's game; Mac was just playing it.

Mac shook his head, jarring himself from his thoughts as he closed the bathroom door and locked it, turning on the water for his shower and starting to toss his clothes into a pile on the floor. He waited until the water heated up, then stepped under the stream, letting it pound away at his eternally-tense muscles, and started going over what he'd found so far, like he did every morning.

Like every morning, his first thought was that he'd found a big pile of nothing. The oxygen tank Murdoc had brought with him traced back to a hospital that closed down three years prior. Phoenix had checked the building and come up empty, and Riley couldn't find anything odd in the building's past—including financials and patient files. The stool, dental stand, recliner, and even the tools were also dead ends; they were too generic, easily obtained from any number of sources.

They thought they found something with the drugs Mac had been dosed with—they were purchased under the authority of a doctor at a mental institution with a sketchy past—but their investigation only turned up awful patient neglect, mishandling of schedule 1 drugs, and the outright torture of several patients. While Mac was happy to have assisted in getting the place shut down, the guilty workers arrested, and the patients the actual help they needed, it still got him no closer to Murdoc. He was starting to wade through the boxes the assassin left on his cart, but there was so much inside those boxes that it was nearly overwhelming.

The only bright spot appeared to be the cameras; Murdoc had set up numerous cameras besides the one that had been filming Drew. They'd found one aimed at his recliner, one aimed right where Murdoc had been sitting, and several more around the building, all of them connected wirelessly to a remote location. Even though the connection had since been cut, Riley was working on tracing it. Still, the crushing feeling that he was running out of time was getting heavier by the day. He couldn't keep this up forever.

"Hey, Mac!" the blond agent jumped when he heard his roommate's voice from outside the bathroom door, his voice a bit muffled. Mac wiped the water from his eyes and leaned out.

"What?" he called back inquisitively.

"I made waffles; you want any?" Bozer questioned cheerfully. Mac couldn't help but crack a smile; leave it to Bozer to find a way to make life seem normal through this mess.

"Sounds great, Boze," he confirmed. "Be out in a few."

"You got it!"

Mac got through the rest of his shower quickly, then turned the water off, stepped out, and began drying off. He tied the towel around his waist and headed back to his room, closing the door and reemerging a few minutes later, dressed for the office with his damp hair combed. The only trace of his fatigue that remained was the darkening of the skin under his eyes. The Phoenix agent followed the scent of fresh waffles hungrily, finding Bozer in the kitchen, already setting a plate out for his roommate.

"Right on time, Mac," Bozer grinned, and Mac couldn't help but smile back.

"Thanks, Boze," he said gratefully, taking a seat in front of his plate and drizzling syrup over his still-steaming waffles.

"You get any sleep?" Bozer asked, digging into his own plate.

"Yeah, some," Mac confirmed, letting out a sigh and taking his first bite. "These are amazing, by the way."

"Thank you," his roommate grinned. "You find anything useful last night?"

"No," Mac denied regretfully. "I'm going to keep wading through the physical evidence when we get in today."

Bozer just nodded, glancing at him in concern. The two finished their breakfast in comfortable silence, glancing at their phones when they vibrated almost simultaneously as they finished. It was Jack, checking in with "Steve Rogers is Captain America."

Mac felt the slightest bit of tension release from his shoulders, though his body was still wound like a spring. Bozer studied him for a moment before he let out a weary sigh.

"I know I've asked this before, Mac," he said slowly. "But is there anything you want to talk about?"

"I'm fine, Boze," Mac rolled his eyes, the response like a reflex. They both knew it wasn't true, but they both also knew that talking wasn't one of the blond man's strengths. Still, Boze needed to try, so he opened his mouth to say something else, but Mac cut him off.

"I think I'm gonna head in early," he announced. "Thanks for breakfast, Boze; I'll see you there."

With this, he was out the door, and Bozer let out another sigh, putting his elbows on the counter and his face in his hands. The more Mac insisted he was fine, the more worried his roommate became. He'd seen Mac go through some dark times, and this was shaping up to be one of the worst. His friend was spiraling, and there was nothing he could do to stop it; Mac wouldn't let him in. If he kept going the way he was going, Bozer knew that Murdoc wouldn't be the only threat to himself Mac would face; he was his own worst enemy at times like this.

Bozer shook his head and straightened up; it was a problem he'd have to face later. In the meantime, he pulled on his shoes and headed out the door. They all had work to do.

* * *

By the time Bozer made it into the office, Matty had already summoned them to the war room, so he headed straight there, finding Mac, Riley, and Matty all waiting for him. His roommate, as always, looked tense, and Riley looked a bit tired as well, but Matty looked the same as ever: serious and ever-so-slightly terrifying. Jack had yet to arrive, not that it particularly mattered; he was not yet cleared for the field.

"Morning," Riley greeted him from her place sitting on the arm of one of the chairs, facing the big screen, and Mac gave him a nod and a forced smile, twisting a paperclip in his hands as he stood behind the coffee table in the middle of the room.

"Morning," Bozer nodded back at them both, taking the chair opposite Riley's. "What do we got, Matty?"

"Hold on," Matty sighed. "We're waiting for Jack."

Mac looked up from his hands in surprise. "What for?"

"Yeah, didn't he only start PT, like, last week?" Bozer raised an eyebrow.

"He can't be ready for the field, yet," Riley looked doubtful.

"No," Matty confirmed. "He's not. No matter what he claims. He's got another month and a half at _least_ of rehab before I let him back out in the field."

"Then why...?" Mac didn't have to finish his question.

"Because if I _don't_ at least pull him in for the briefing, he's going to be in my ear all day long demanding to know everything," Matty replied, already sounding irritated. "That's what he's been doing ever since he was released from the hospital. If I have to hear 'Matty where'd they go?' or 'So what's the mission?' or 'You know I could easily go provide backup,' one more time, _I'm_ going to shoot him."

The rest of the team laughed, and moments later, Jack opened the door and stepped into the room.

"Nice of you to join us, Dalton," Director Webber's tone was still irritated, but it was clear that she was happy to see him. He'd only been cleared to begin PT six days prior, and before that he'd been strongly encouraged to stay away from the office so he could rest. Of course he hadn't been receptive to that suggestion, but even still, he hadn't set foot in the war room since he was shot.

"Sorry I'm late," Jack gave a goofy grin to excuse his tardiness. "But I'm here now, so the party can start; where are we going?"

" _You_ are not going anywhere," Matty said firmly, fixing him with a glare. "But you can stay here and monitor Mac, Riley, and Bozer while they go to Seattle."

"Ah, c'mon, Matty," Jack pouted, but Matty wasn't hearing it.

"You started rehab six days ago and haven't even been cleared to move faster than a brisk walk, so shut it, Dalton; you're staying here," she snapped. Jack scowled, but held up his hands in surrender and sat down in one of the two chairs behind the coffee table and waved a hand for their boss to continue as Mac looked on with a small smirk. Matty sighed and shook her head before turning back to the screen and hitting a button on the remote in her hands.

"Last night there was a breach at Nuvogenix, a biotech company that currently holds several government contracts," their boss told them. "They have dozens of active research projects with applications in everything—agriculture, biodegradable plastics, biofuels, vaccines, nanobiotech, pharmaceuticals—you name it, they have someone working on it."

"Was anything stolen?" Mac asked, his fingers still fidgeting with his wire project.

"Yes, but they won't tell us what," Matty sighed. "Nuvogenix refuses to read us into their project."

"So they're asking for our help, but they don't want to tell us anything?" Bozer raised an eyebrow. "How are we supposed to find anything if they don't tell us what we're looking for?"

"We're the best for a reason, Bozer," Matty shrugged, though it was clear that the company's lack of cooperation was getting under her skin. "That said, if you happen to figure it out, no one can fault you."

The way she said it made it clear that it was more than a disclaimer, and all three active field agents nodded, smirking slightly to indicate their understanding. Matty hit another button on the remote in her hand.

"This was recorded at Nuvogenix's lab the night of the robbery," she informed them as the agents turned their attention to the screen. They watched as five armed, masked men in body armor stormed into the lab where four scientists had been working diligently. They all cringed and looked away when the attackers immediately shot one of the researchers, then threatened the others to stop them from coming to his aid. One of the attackers, this one the only one wearing a backpack, stepped forward and dragged the nearest scientist—a young woman—off screen. The two remaining scientists flinched visibly, screaming silently in reaction to something off screen. About a minute later, both returned, and the woman was shoved over to her companions, who were all holding their hands up by their heads, looking completely and utterly terrified. Though the footage had no sound to accompany it, the agents could all practically hear the three of them scream as they were all gunned down. The four agents shifted uncomfortably as Matty turned back to them.

"Three of the scientists died of their injuries before help could arrive, as did two security guards they shot on their way in." she explained. "The remaining researcher is still in surgery; we don't know if she's going to pull through."

"Who survived?" Riley asked curiously.

"Her name is Doctor Abigail Kinkade," Matty hit another button, pulling up the doctor's profile. "She was the one they used to open the project vault. Twenty-eight years old, adopted her younger sister—Elenore, nineteen—after the death of their parents in 2012. She graduated high school at fourteen, finished her undergraduate studies before she turned seventeen, holds several patents, and has doctoral degrees in biochemistry, engineering, marine biology, and immunology, all of which were obtained before her twenty-second birthday."

"Wow," Mac whistled, looking both impressed and perplexed. "She's kind of all over the place with her degrees..."

"What are you talking about?" Jack scoffed, adjusting his position and wincing just slightly. "They all sound sciency to me."

"Well, yeah, Jack, but usually, people specialize in one area," Mac rolled his eyes, his body starting to relax just slightly as he began to settle into the task at hand. "When people have multiple degrees they're usually in closely-linked fields, like chemistry and biochemistry, or engineering and applied physics, or biology and immunology...biochemistry and immunology are kinda close, but engineering and marine biology? She's all over the board...any idea what department she's in?"

"Nuvogenix has denied us access to their employee records," Matty's irritation was palpable. "All we were given access to were the most basic files on each employee that was involved in the incident. Nothing even tangentially related to what they were working on."

"Do we at least know if they were all working on the same project?" Riley questioned, one eyebrow lifting with her words.

"No," Matty denied, seeming almost personally offended by that fact. "Unfortunately, this is all I can give you. I've sent what I have to your phones; the plane leaves in fifteen minutes."

"Whoa, hey, Matty," Jack interrupted as he got to his feet, stopping his team from leaving. "Listen, I really don't like the idea of sending either Mac or Riley out without any backup; at least one of them's gonna be on their own no matter where Bozer goes, and odds are good that sooner or later all three of them are gonna be alone out there. I should be going with them."

"Not a chance, Dalton," Matty shook her head. "You, Mac, and Nikki went out just the three of you all the time. So did you, Mac, and Riley, until Bozer came in. You've sat out on missions before, and everything worked out just fine."

"We didn't have Murdoc actively gunning for our asses back then," Jack argued, noting how Mac tensed right back up at the mention of the psychopath's name. "He might not be coming after Mac first—so he claims—but Riley and Boze are fair game. No matter how this goes down, at some point at least one of them is gonna be exposed, and I wouldn't put it past that psychopath for a moment to come after them while they're on a mission."

"We _have_ gone out without you since you were shot, Jack," Riley reminded him gently. "Nothing happened then."

"So you wanna just keep tempting fate?" Jack challenged. "Frankly, the more I recover, the more likely it is he's gonna come after you. You're thinking it, too, Mac; I know you are."

Mac didn't answer, looking down and shifting his feet uncomfortably, but it was clear that Jack was right; it was exactly what he was thinking. Murdoc wanted him and his friends to feel helpless, useless...being injured and unable to stop him was one thing, but being healthy and still not standing a chance would be that much worse, which was exactly what he wanted.

"Jack, you haven't been cleared for the field; you're not going," Matty's voice made it clear that she was done arguing about it. Jack glared at her—really glared, as if to say 'if anything happens to them, it's on you'—but didn't say a word, lowering himself back down into his chair.

"That said," the director continued, making Jack look up in surprise. "I do understand your concern, so here's what I'll do. Simmons' team is due for an AMOS refresher course, but Kyser and Ramirez both already recertified two weeks ago; I'll send them with Mac, Riley, and Bozer up to Seattle. That's as good as you're gonna get, Jack."

The former Delta nodded, knowing it would have to do and trusting Kyser and Ramirez to keep his friends safe, both from anything they may find on their mission and anything Murdoc may throw at them.

Bozer and Riley both smiled at their sidelined companion as they passed him, but Mac didn't meet his eyes, hurrying out after his colleagues. When the door closed, Jack spoke.

"He's not okay," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Of course he's not," Matty scoffed. "Would you be?"

"I don't know if he's ready to go back out there, Matty," the former Delta shook his head and turned to meet her eyes. "His head's not in it. At this point, if Murdoc doesn't get to him, he's going to get himself killed in the field."

"He passed his psych evals with flying colors, Jack," Matty shrugged. "In their two missions since you were shot, he's given me no reason to doubt him. I can't bench one of my best assets on a maybe. Murdoc isn't the only threat out there; the world needs Mac."

"Yeah," Jack nodded, getting to his feet with a weary sigh and heading for the door. "That's exactly what I'm worried about."

* * *

Mac stared out the window as the jet soared above the clouds, their two-and-a-half-hour flight to Seattle a mere thirty minutes from completion. Their expanded team was spread out in the jet; Kyser and Ramirez were both up front getting themselves some coffee, Riley was in the tech bay trying to see what she could find from the footage of the attack and on Nuvogenix itself, and Bozer was...

...Sliding into the seat across from him, jolting him from his thoughts. His roommate leaned forward on the small table between them, his hands folded, looking Mac in the eye. MacGyver blinked at him.

"Something you wanna say, Boze?" he asked, giving his friend a look.

"You're somewhere else, man," Bozer stated, his expression serious. "What's going on?"

Mac let out a weary sigh, rubbing his tired eyes. "Nothing, Boze; I'm fine."

"No, Mac, you're not," Bozer growled, frustrated and, frankly, both annoyed and offended. They'd been having the same one-sided discussion since Jack was shot, and it was getting them nowhere fast. The fact that Mac was refusing to confide in him felt like a personal slight, even if he knew it wasn't. "'I'm fine' is not good enough anymore. You've been shutting me down for a month, now; it's not doing any of us any good, least of all you. You're not with us right now, and we need you, so talk to me. For once, just talk to me."

The blond agent felt his jaw twitch, his hands clenching as he turned to look out the window. Bozer felt his anger flare.

"No, Mac, don't you dare just shut down on me again," Bozer snapped, trying to keep his voice down. "I'm tired of it. I get that you went through some shit, man—I do—but I can't do a damn thing to help you if you refuse to talk to me. I get that Murdoc is targeting you, but he's targeting us, too, and you're not doing yourself or us any favors by keeping everything bottled up. You let this shit get to you, and you're not gonna be the only one who pays for it. You let this shit distract you, and it could get you and any number of the rest of us killed in the meantime. So for God's sake, Mac, just stop with the lone wolf crap and talk to me. I'm your best friend, man; act like it."

Mac swallowed hard, knowing his friend was right and yet still quite irritated at being called out, and let out a weary, heavy sigh.

"What do you want me to say, Boze?" he asked finally, dragging his eyes from the window to meet the man's gaze. "That he's getting to me? That I can never relax because I know that the second I do, he's going to hurt one of you? That I know that I'm playing right into his hands by letting this get to me, but I don't have a choice? Murdoc's pulling all the strings, Boze. You heard what Riley found; he engineered that whole night. He put out the hit on me. He made sure Drew took the contract. He followed us. He called 911 to save Jack. He waited until just the right moment to kill Elliot..."

Mac paused, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to push the memory away. His hands were tight fists on the tabletop, shaking as his knuckles turned white. He took another breath to calm himself before speaking again. "He set the location, he chose the method they were going to use to kill me, he chose exactly what evidence he was going to leave behind...he set everything up. And we all did everything exactly the way he wanted us to. And we didn't know it until he wanted us to. There was no other way that night could have gone, which, yes, that makes it not my fault, but it also...no matter what I did, he would have gotten what he wanted. And I can't help but feel like that's exactly how it's going to go when he comes after you guys. I'm going to be just as helpless—as useless—as I was in that damn chair, watching him torture Drew. Because no matter what I do—whether I just sit back and bide my time or I drive myself crazy trying to go after him and catch him before he can do anything—I'm giving him exactly what he wants."

"He's not unbeatable, Mac." Bozer did his best to hide his shock; he'd never heard his friend doubt himself so intensely.

"No, he is, this time," Mac growled quietly. "And he knows it. He engineered everything about that night and I didn't know it until he wanted me to—what's to say that won't happen again? Literally every scenario could just be a trap and I wouldn't know it until we were in it. Until it was too late. What am I supposed to do against that? How am I supposed to beat that? There's no scenario where I come out on top, here. Everything he left behind, he wanted to leave, so even if I find something, it'll only be what he wanted me to find, and there's no way he'd ever hand me a way to beat him. There is _nothing_ I can do, and yet I can't stop trying."

"Mac, do me a favor, and take a breath," Bozer interrupted his friend's panicky rant. "Seriously, just breathe for a second."

The blond agent clamped his mouth shut and swallowed hard, studying his best friend for a moment before forcing himself to take a deep breath.

"Good," Bozer approved. "Now, I get where you're coming from, man, but you're wrong. No, now, hear me out," he silenced the agent across from him when he opened his mouth to speak, "just listen. You're right; there was nothing you could do that night. But you weren't ready for him then, and you were alone then. Yeah, he only left behind what he meant to, but that doesn't mean what he left is useless."

Mac looked doubtful, but his best friend ignored the expression, instead counting on his fingers, "First of all, Murdoc is too cocky for his own good; he probably left more than enough to catch him or at least anticipate what he's going to do. Second of all, you're not on your own anymore. We've got your back. Drew and Elliot got you when your guard was down; none of us ever have our guard down anymore. The way you've got us operating right now, even if one of us gets caught somewhere along the way, the others are gonna know about it almost instantly. We're changing up routines, checking in with each other every morning, our houses are all rigged up with cameras and traps...we're not safe, Mac, but we're covered."

Mac nodded slightly. His friend was right; he'd taken every reasonable precaution—and several unreasonable ones—when it came to protecting his team. They were, truly, as safe as they possibly could be without going completely into hiding.

"And, I'm gonna be honest here, man," Bozer gave him a slight half smile, "even if Murdoc gets his hands on me, I know you'll be able to save me. There's not a doubt in my mind. You've done it before, and you can do it again; it's what you do. Especially since you'll have everyone else to back you up. I mean...you _and_ the full force of Phoenix? I'd be back before lunch. I know he tried to get you to doubt yourself, get you to think that we'd start doubting you, but I don't, and neither does anyone else. Whatever Murdoc does, whenever he does it, we'll be ready and we will help you. You don't have to do this by yourself. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Mac nodded again, some of the tension in his body releasing as his friend spoke. "Yeah, I know."

"Good," Bozer approved, happy to have finally, _finally_ gotten his friend to open up. "Then how about this: We shelve all things Murdoc for right now, focus on what we gotta do here, and when we get back, we can all dig into those evidence boxes together. And before you say that's something you'd rather do alone, since I know that's what you were gonna say, clearly you trying to go all _Beautiful Mind_ on it all isn't working out for you. As much of a genius as you are, you might need a few extra pairs of eyes. Now, do we have a deal?"

Mac laughed slightly, surprising the man across from him; his (genuine) laughs had become few and far between.

"Yeah," Mac agreed with a smile. "We have a deal."

"Excellent," Bozer smiled back at him. "Now let's go see what Riley's got."

Mac nodded in agreement, and the two of them stood up, called Kyser and Ramirez to follow, and made their way back towards the tech bay. They found Riley in her usual spot, studying the screen before her through slightly narrowed eyes.

"Hey, Riley," Mac greeted her first, again to Bozer's surprise. "You find anything?"

"Not much," Riley reported regretfully. "Nuvogenix operates on a closed system; I can't get in without being on site. Jack texted, though, says he thinks the guys were military."

Mac stood behind her, watching the footage again as it played on the screen. This time, there was more of it; Nuvogenix had sent over footage of the entirety of the attack, from them breaking in to them making their way through the lab before finally ending with them shooting the researchers. The former EOD tech nodded, concurring with his partner's assessment.

"I can see that," he confirmed. "Their movements, their focus...they all certainly look military-trained."

"So what's the plan when we arrive?" Kyser asked, sipping his coffee.

"Let's start with the lab first," Mac sighed, crossing his arms in thought. "We'll see what we can find. After that, we'll go to the hospital, see if Doctor Kinkade can give us any insights."

"If she survives that long," Bozer put in, his voice and expression grave. Mac glanced at him, but before he could say or do anything, the pilot came over the intercom and told them to prepare for landing. The five of them made their way back out to the front of the plane and took their seats, fastening their seatbelts.

Bozer was once again facing his roommate, studying him as they landed. It was evident that his desperate plea to snap out of his haze had indeed had an effect on Mac, but he was obviously still distracted. He supposed it was too much to ask for his friend to simply flip a switch and go back to normal, but it was still so hard to see him struggling. He usually seemed so put-together. Of course, Bozer often saw through that front—at least on some level—but the facade was usually at least half-convincing. This time, Mac had started out strong, but his efforts had quickly devolved as his stress steadily grew.

Still, the newest agent thought, he was trying. For now, that was enough.

* * *

The second Mac caught sight of the head of project development at Nuvogenix—Doctor Nigel Hart—inside his private lab space, he knew immediately that they were in for a rough time. The man wore a frown as he talked to one of the other scientists, and that frown deepened when he saw the approaching Phoenix agents. They watched him quickly dismiss the researcher he was talking to and turn to face them. When he opened his mouth, he confirmed Mac's suspicions instantly.

"What on Earth are _you_ doing here?" the man asked irritably, as though their mere presence was insulting. He was a tall, lanky man with a slightly receding hairline, frown lines etched into his face, and a thick air of impatience. All five of the Phoenix agents raised their eyebrows at him and looked at each other before Mac blinked and turned back to him, speaking first.

"Um...Doctor Hart, my name is MacGyver, and this is Riley Davis, Bozer, Mark Kyser, and Ricardo Ramirez. We're from the Ph—"

"Phoenix Foundation, yes, I know," Doctor Hart interrupted. "We sent you all the footage and our projects certainly aren't here, so what are you doing here?"

"We, ah..." Mac tilted his head slightly, a bit taken aback by the man's tone. "We just had a few questions—"

"Of course you did," Hart rolled his eyes and rubbed his brow irritably. "You people always do, but in case no one told you," his tone became condescending, as though he were talking to a bunch of children, "the projects are classified, and you haven't been cleared to know about them. Frankly, even if you _were_ cleared, explaining them to you would be like explaining poetry to goldfish, so how about we all save our breath, shall we?"

"You know, not to overstep," Ramirez spoke up, his eyes slightly narrowed, "but if you would stop being so unnecessarily confrontational and maybe try being the slightest bit helpful, we could leave and start finding your missing projects a lot faster. You know, since you couldn't do your job and stop them from being stolen in the first place."

Mac bit back a smile as Kyser lightly elbowed Ramirez in the ribs and Riley laughed quietly. Doctor Hart glowered at the operative before him, and Ramirez met his gaze with no intention of backing down, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at the man. As expected, Doctor Hart blinked first, giving a huff.

" _Fine_ ," he snapped. "What is it you want?"

"Well, for starters, you only told us that there was one missing project," Mac pointed out. "But just now you used the plural. Just how many projects did these guys get away with?"

"Two," Hart replied stiffly. "Project 1232-K and project 0734-W-B. And before you ask what they were, I'm going to remind you _again_ that both are highly classified, and I haven't been authorized to read you in, as if any of you could ever hope to understand them even if I did."

"Okay, listen, man," Bozer began, but Mac cut him off.

"Can we see the lab?" he requested, managing to stay pleasant.

"If you must," Hart rolled his eyes. "I'll have one of my senior researchers escort you, make sure you don't ruin anyone's progress while you bumble around in there."

"We'd appreciate that," Mac forced his smile to seem sincere as his team stood obviously fuming. Hart sneered at him, then picked up his phone from his desk and called someone—presumably one of the senior researchers. As he did so, Mac turned his attention to a whiteboard that he'd noticed immediately upon arrival.

"This your work?" he asked curiously, taking a couple steps closer to the board. It displayed a complex series of organic chemical structures and thermodynamic equations, all together obviously composing the theory behind one of Nuvogenix's projects—some type of biofuel, if Mac had to take a guess. The surface was absolutely packed, leaving almost no white space and incredibly hard to follow if one didn't know what they were looking at. Likely just some sort of stream-of-consciousness deal from Hart. Behind him, the four other agents smirked ever-so-slightly to themselves.

"Yes," Hart confirmed dangerously after hanging up with his employee. "And I'd appreciate if you'd keep back from it."

"It's very impressive," Mac admitted. "Some kind of biofuel, right? Plant-based, I'm guessing."

"Yes," Hart repeated, seeming surprised and suspicious. "How did you know?"

"I took a little chemistry in college," Mac shrugged with a smile. "Haven't been able to get it to work, have you?"

"No," Hart admitted, stepping up beside him. "Been trying for months, but I can't get it to behave as expected. It's too volatile."

"That's because your theoretical output is wrong," Mac stated simply.

"I beg your pardon," Hart sounded offended as he turned to look at the agent. "What on _Earth_ makes you say that?"

"Simple, really," Mac shrugged, leaning forward and picking up a black marker, pulling off the cap and stepping up to the board. Before Hart could protest, the former MIT student made just one short, simple line on the surface before capping the marker and replacing it on the ledge under the board, turning to face the head of project development.

"You dropped a negative."

Hart gaped, his eyes darting between Mac and his work. After a few moments, he shoved past the agent, examining the math with his jaw hanging open. He turned back to face him, but by then, the researcher he'd called—Doctor April Lane, who was one of the employees Matty had managed to get some bare-bones information on—arrived, and the Phoenix team began following her up towards the lab that had been robbed. But before he could even get all the way out the door, Mac stopped himself and leaned back in.

"Oh, and I'm pretty sure you accidentally divided by 6.202 times ten to the twenty-third, instead of 6.022 times ten to the twenty-third," he added with a grin, pointing to a set of equations on the board. "Nice meeting you!"

With this, he quickly moved to catch up with his group. When they'd all gotten into the stairwell, all five Phoenix agents started laughing.

"Mac, that was beautiful," Bozer approved as they began ascending the steps to the next floor.

"Easily one of the most satisfying things I've seen in a long time," Ramirez nodded.

"His face was priceless," Riley chimed in, grinning from ear to ear.

"Hart give you guys a hard time?" Doctor Lane asked with a knowing smile, though there was sadness in her eyes as she carried a cardboard file box.

"He always like that?" Kyser inquired, almost finding it hard to believe.

"Pretty much," Doctor Lane nodded. "He's a bit of a control freak."

"Understatement," Bozer scoffed, earning small laughs from his colleagues.

"What do you have there?" Mac asked curiously.

"Oh," Doctor Lane blinked, as though just remembering what she was holding, and handed the box to the agent. "It's all of Abby's stuff; she left it hanging up in the lab."

"Thank you," the blond agent said graciously, tucking the box under his arm as they continued walking, eventually exiting the stairwell.

They came to a stop outside a door that was blocked off with caution tape, and Lane turned to them.

"I hope you guys don't mind if I wait out here," she said quietly. The team murmured in agreement, and Lane moved aside, allowing them to open the door and duck under the caution tape. A Phoenix forensic team had already come through and thoroughly processed the scene, but the assailants had left almost no trace of themselves, apart from the bullets and shell casings, but they hadn't led anywhere. The operatives made their way into the lab, careful to avoid the blood pools, and right away, they noticed something was off.

"Hey, weren't there whiteboards at the back of this room?" Mac asked their supervisor out in the hallway, voicing everyone's thoughts.

"Yes," Lane confirmed. "Doctor Hart had us move them because they were full of project details."

"Of course he did," Ramirez rolled his eyes. He looked to his right for Kyser, but he found that his colleague was walking towards the right hand side of the room. There, he saw a thick, heavy, metal door locked with a keypad.

"Find something, Mark?" he asked as Mac handed the box of Doctor Kinkade's belongings to Bozer and nosed around the lab stations, trying to find some clue as to what they were looking for.

In response, Kyser called to Doctor Lane over his shoulder, "This where the projects were kept?"

"Yeah," Lane nodded, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed, looking anywhere but the blood pools. As Ramirez made his way over to Kyser's side, Mac motioned to Riley, calling her over to him as he stood in front of one of the lab computers. Kyser glanced at Mac out of the corner of his eye, and the agent motioned to keep Lane distracted.

"Passcode protected," Kyser observed, keeping his attention on the door and consequently pulling Doctor Lane's attention towards it as well. "Who knows the passcode?"

"Well, Doctor Hart, obviously," Lane sighed as Riley hooked her laptop up to the lab computer and Mac casually took off his jacket and draped it over the cord, Bozer leaning against a lab bench and playing lookout. "But also all of the project leaders. Project leaders are responsible for making sure their projects and all related written research and data is securely locked away in there."

"And none of that data can ever possibly leave?" Ramirez asked, picking up on what was going on and playing along seamlessly.

"Well, occasionally researchers will take their physical notes home with them to keep working, but they're not supposed to," Lane shrugged. "And researchers are searched before leaving if they're working on a government contract to prevent such things."

"And the woman who survived, Doctor Kinkade, was she a project leader?" Kyser asked, his voice rising in volume ever-so-slightly when Lane started to turn and look at what Mac and Riley were up to, regaining her attention. Ramirez glanced subtly in his snooping colleagues' direction, and Mac signaled that they were just finishing up.

"Yes, but I'm not sure which project," Lane confirmed. To her left, Riley finished her task and disconnected her laptop from the computer, closing the screen as Mac picked up his jacket again. "We're not allowed to talk about our projects...um...what are you doing?"

Lane had shifted her attention to Mac and Riley, but too late to see anything too incriminating.

"Reviewing the security footage," Mac lied smoothly. "I don't suppose you have any insights into what happened, do you?"

"Not really," Lane denied regretfully. "And honestly, I don't care what Hart would say; I'd tell you if I did. Abby has been like a sister to me since college. I'd be with her right now if I could afford to take off work."

"Can you tell us anything about _her_?" Bozer asked.

"Like what?" Lane tilted her head in confusion.

"Has she been acting different lately?" Mac clarified. "Jumpy, paranoid...like something was bothering her?"

"No more than usual; she and her little sister have been at odds with each other since she was born, always fighting about something, and yesterday was no different in that regard," Lane shrugged, and then her eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask? You...you don't think she had something to do with this, do you?"

"No, of course not," Kyser assured her. "But we have to consider that one of the victims could have been the target all along. Not likely, but it's something we need to look into."

Lane nodded, accepting his answer, and gave a helpless sigh, "I wish I could be more help."

"Don't worry," Riley's voice was soothing as she gave a charming smile. "I think we've got what we need."

"Thanks for your help," Mac added sincerely. Then he and the other four operatives made their way out of the lab, Bozer still holding the box tucked under his arm, and Lane escorted them out of the building.

Once outside, Ramirez looked over at Riley, "So, how did we make out?"

"I couldn't access the files," Riley admitted, "but I was able to copy them, so I can decrypt them when we get back to the hotel."

"Any theories yet?" Kyser asked Mac, seeing his gears turning in his head.

"Huh?" the agent seemed surprised, blinking and turning to look at him. After a moment, he processed what the older man had said and shook his head, "Ah, no, I'm just thinking."

"Anything you'd like to share with the class?" Kyser pressed as they approached the parking lot.

"I'm just...thinking about the project numbers," Mac admitted, still clearly distracted by his thoughts. "If I'm right about them, we have a huge problem."

"Tell us in the car," Kyser ordered, pulling the keys from his pocket and glancing around the area. They weren't alone in the lot; a few security guards and several scientists were milling about, some visibly upset by the previous night's events.

"Shotgun!" Ramirez claimed the front seat before anyone could argue, and rushed forward to grab the passenger door handle.

"Eric, for Christ's sake, how old are you?" Kyser rolled his eyes. Behind him, Mac and Bozer looked at each other and touched their noses with their index fingers before shifting their gaze to Riley.

"No nose goes," Bozer smirked. "You're in the middle, Riley."

Riley shook her head and rubbed her temple. "Looks like we're the only adults here, Kyser," she reported with a sigh. The five of them shared a laugh, then piled into the SUV they'd arrived in, Bozer placing the box at his feet.

"How long to the hospital?" Bozer asked.

"About thirty minutes," Kyser replied, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot. "What are you thinking, Mac?"

"Well, the project numbers were 1232-K and 0734-W-B," Mac reminded him. "I think the letters have to do with what category they fall under."

"Maybe but how does that help us?" Riley gave him a look from her place in the middle of the back seat.

"Ahm...okay, so, biotech is broken down into colors based on application," the agent explained. "The main ones being white, red, yellow, blue, green, gold, and black. White is industrial, red is medicine, yellow is anything related to food production, blue is marine and aquatics, green is agriculture, gold is nanobiotech and computer science, and black is bioterrorism. So, if I'm right, the W and B in 0734-W-B mean white and blue, and the project has industrial and marine applications."

"And 1232-K?" Ramirez raised an eyebrow at him, turning in his seat. "None of those categories you listed started with a K."

"True," Mac agreed. "But blue and black both start with a B, so one of them would have to have a different tag letter, and black is the only one with a K in it at all. Again, I could be wrong, but if I'm right..."

"Then 1232-K is a bioweapon," Kyser concluded grimly.

"Exactly," Mac nodded.

"Aren't we, like...not supposed to be making any bioweapons?" Bozer raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, we're also not supposed to have nukes anymore," Riley scoffed. "And we definitely do."

"Fair enough," Bozer allowed.

"Theoretically, there's also the possibility that it wasn't a US contract," Mac pointed out. "Unlikely, I'll admit, but we were only told about one project until we got here. Hart's the only one who said they were both classified military contracts."

"And that guy is an asshole," Ramirez scoffed, seeming irritated just by the thought of the man.

"Either way, I think we should ask Matty to see if she can at least get a definitive on how many contracted projects were stolen," Mac concluded with a chuckle.

"Agreed," Riley nodded, already sending the text. Almost immediately after getting on the highway, they hit thick traffic, and a chorus of groans erupted from the car.

"Strap in, guys," Kyser warned. "It's gonna be a long drive."

* * *

It took the Phoenix agents nearly twice as long as anticipated to reach the hospital, but when they did, the whole building was in chaos, thanks to the seven-car pileup that caused their delay. They had a hard time finding someone to point them in the direction of Doctor Kinkade's room, but eventually, they found their way. They split up, Ramirez and Bozer going to see what they could do about taking a look at the personal effects she'd been brought in with, and Mac, Kyser, and Riley going to her room in the ICU.

Upon arrival, the trio pushed the ajar door open and found Doctor Abigail Kinkade in a private room, attached to a ventilator, face bruised, and her IV pole crowded with bags, looking small and broken surrounded by machines. Mac grimaced visibly, the sight bringing up too many unwanted memories, and pulled his eyes away from her, instead looking around the room. In one of the chairs, looking out the window, a younger woman sat hugging her knees to her chest. She was obviously Abigail's sister; both women had the same brown hair, the same face shape, the same slight frame. The younger woman's hair was longer than her sisters, and pulled out of her face by a ponytail, and her eyes were lined with dark makeup that was running as she cried silently.

"Excuse me," Mac's voice jolted the younger woman from her thoughts, and she wiped her eyes quickly before turning to them, standing up with her arms folded across her chest. She was wearing black, skin-tight skinny jeans, a black crop top with a logo Mac didn't recognize on it, black boots with silver zippers, and an oversized red flannel that hung open. She also had a silver piercing in her bellybutton and a silver hoop piercing the cartilage of her left ear. White gauze encircled her left hand, covering some kind of injury. "I'm Angus MacGyver, and this is Riley Davis and Mark Kyser. We're investigating what happened at the lab last night; you must be Doctor Kinkade's sister."

The young woman nodded, sniffling softly. "Ellie," she introduced herself shakily before clearing her throat.

"How's she doing?" Kyser asked, his voice gentle and compassionate. Ellie stifled a sob.

"Not good," she admitted. "She lost a lot of blood, and they hit her at some point—probably because she wouldn't open that _stupid_ vault—and...and the bullets broke off some pieces of her ribs...she lost part of her liver...They shot her seven times; why wouldn't she just open the stupid vault?"

Her tears began to fall again, and Riley, her heart breaking for her, stepped forward, pulling her into a hug without thinking. Ellie clung tightly to her, sobbing for about thirty seconds before stepping back and wiping her eyes.

"I'm sorry," her voice trembled. "I'm sorry, I just...We had such a huge fight yesterday. It got so heated and we both said such awful things, and..." her face contorted as she suppressed another sob, "and she offered to call out from work so we could talk, but I...I told her I didn't want to talk. I should have told her to stay...it's my fault; she could die because of me."

"No, now, that's not even close to true," Mac shook his head. "No one's to blame, here, except the people who shot her in the first place."

"He's right," Kyser agreed. "And, don't take this the wrong way, but I wouldn't have expected her to survive at all after being shot seven times; the fact that she's not only alive, but stable, is incredible, critical or not. She's strong; she could pull through. But if you don't believe she will, then how's she going to? Mentality is incredibly important when it comes to recovery; you'd be surprised what the human body can do by simply believing it can do it."

Ellie sniffed and wiped her eyes, swallowing hard as she forced herself to nod. "You're right," she agreed at last. "And, hey, if anyone can do it, it's Abby."

"Are you and your sister close?" Mac asked, and Ellie gave a slight laugh.

"We're all each other's got," she told him, looking over at her sister. "Our parents died in a car crash when I was thirteen and she was twenty-two. She took me in, and we've been living together ever since. We're always fighting but we're also always there for each other. We always like to say 'if anyone's gonna make my sister cry, it's gonna be me.'"

The Phoenix team laughed at that, each of them filling with sympathy.

"Did she seem stressed lately?" Kyser asked. "More than usual? Or maybe like something was bothering her?"

"Just her asshole of a boss," Ellie scoffed, folding her arms again

"Yeah, we met him," Riley rolled her eyes.

"What a dick, right?" Ellie smiled just a bit. "He won't even give you the time of day if you weren't invited to join Mensa by age eight. My sister graduated high school at fourteen, finished her undergrad in two and a half years, and then got her PhDs two at a time and finished school by twenty-one, and he still barely treated her like a person."

"He's a special one, alright," Kyser sighed. "Can you think of any reason someone might want to hurt your sister? Any enemies you can think of?"

"No," Ellie sounded a bit defensive when she spoke, any trace of a smile vanishing, "everybody loves Abby, or if they don't they at least don't have anything against her. Why?"

"We just have to ask, is all," Kyser assured her. "We don't think what happened had anything to do with her; we're just trying to see if there might have been another motive besides robbery."

Elli hesitated, then gave a small nod, relaxing slightly.

"Did your sister ever take her work home with her?" Mac asked.

"Well, she never brought anything home, but she'd work on her ideas and stuff at home," the young woman explained. "Said that that way, she wasn't technically breaking any rules, and Hart couldn't say shit. She keeps all her notes locked up in a safe."

"Any chance you know the combination?" Riley perked up at the mention of notes; maybe they'd finally get some idea of what they were dealing with.

"No," Ellie replied regretfully. "Abby doesn't keep much from me, but she doesn't tell me anything about her work and never lets me see her notes."

The trio exchanged somewhat disappointed glances before Mac turned back to Ellie.

"Would it be alright if we took a look around your house?" he asked hopefully. "We might be able to find something that could shed some light on what the robbers wanted."

"Of course," Ellie agreed readily. "Anything to find them."

"Thank you," Mac's voice was sincere, and he gave a gentle smile. He looked at his two companions, and they all turned to leave. Kyser stopped and leaned back into the room.

"Just hang in there," he encouraged. "And remember, if you don't believe it, neither will she."

Ellie nodded and gave the smallest smile, resuming her seat, and Kyser quickly moved to catch up with his companions. The trio found the rest of their crew in the stairwell, headed up to them.

"Hey," Bozer greeted them, a large plastic bag in his hand. "You get anything from the sister?"

"Maybe," Mac replied with a sigh. "We're headed to her house. Apparently, Doctor Kinkade often worked while at home, kept notes locked in a safe."

"Cool," Ramirez shrugged, turning around and jogging back down the steps with his companions. "We got her personal effects, but there doesn't seem to be anything of interest."

"Then let's hope we find something at the house," Riley sighed as they exited the stairwell and started navigating the still-chaotic hospital back towards their car. "Because if I can't break those files, I don't like our odds of finding something when we don't know what we're looking for."

"Oh, come on," Kyser smiled at her as they exited the building. "Stranger things have happened."

The rest of the group laughed slightly, and then they all climbed back into the car. As they made their way towards the Kinkade residence, Bozer dug through the box they'd gotten from Doctor Lane, finding Abigail's keys in her purse and handing them to Mac. Kyser pulled the car over around the side of the house and put it in park, allowing the group to clamber out. The house before them was a modest two-story with gray siding, a fenced yard with a gate, an attached garage, and a brick path leading up to the front door. The street was relatively quiet, with only a few other cars parked in view, most of the residents at work or school by that time.

Without much hesitation, the five of them walked up to the front door, Mac leading the way with the keys in hand. There were four keys on the keyring, each dotted with a different color of nail polish. The door was a deep blue, so on a hunch, Mac first tried the key dotted with blue polish. The key slid in easily, and the agent smirked slightly to himself before turning the key in the lock to the left. When he did, his smirk became a frown.

"It's already unlocked," he reported, pulling the key from the lock and putting it in his pocket as Kyser and Ramirez exchanged glances. He started to open the door, but Kyser reached out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back and stepping in front of him. Mac blinked, but one look from the medic silenced him before he could question it. Kyser let his hand rest on the gun behind his back, then pushed the door open, stepping carefully inside and looking around with his hand still resting on the doorknob. When he was certain there was no immediate threat, he moved aside and let the others trail in after him, Ramirez bringing up the rear.

The team spread out, looking around the main floor.

"I've got dog bowls and dog food but no dog," Ramirez reported from the kitchen, breaking the silence.

"Found the game room," Bozer called from behind a door to the right of the living room, sounding excited, his tone drawing Riley towards him curiously.

"Alright, you guys keep looking down here," Kyser sighed. "Mac, let's go upstairs, find her room."

Mac just nodded. The stairs were near the front door, and since Mac hadn't ventured too far into the house, he made it there first and started jogging up the steps, Kyser right on his heels.

There were five doors on this floor, and three of them were closed. Mac pushed open the one to the right of the top of the stairs and saw a room that he easily identified as Ellie's; her pictures hung on the walls and there was a stack of college textbooks on the desk. Posters hung on the walls, there was a guitar in the corner, and the dresser was crowded with framed photos of friends and family.

Behind him, Kyser leaned into the open door to the left of the stairs, seeing a bathroom with two sinks, one side crowded with an organized mess of makeup and hair products, the other left bare.

Mac walked around him to open the second closed door, the corner room. This one appeared to be a spare bedroom, but looked as though someone had stayed there recently. The sheets were ruffled, as though someone had haphazardly made the bed. There were glass bottles on the nightstand, and a forgotten t-shirt sticking out from under the dresser. There was also a large tub of cleaning supplies on the dresser top, as though someone had been in the process of cleaning up and just stopped. Next to the tub of supplies was a large first-aid kit, with a roll of gauze, tape, and a pair of scissors left out. There were also small bits of glass on the floor, and Mac recalled Ellie's hand, and how it had been wrapped up like she'd hurt it, quickly concluding that she'd cut it on the glass.

Kyser opened the fourth door, finding a closet stocked with sheets, towels, and cleaning supplies.

Mac edged around him to the final room, walking several steps down the hall. As he reached for the doorknob, Kyser heard a creak and a footstep coming from beyond the door, and he jolted. The medic lunged for Mac, grabbing the back of his jacket and yanking him back, putting himself between Jack's partner and the door. Without pausing to explain, he pushed the younger man urgently towards the corner bedroom. Less than a second later, bullets began to fly, a cluster rapidly forming around where Mac's chest would have been. Kyser shoved Mac through the open doorway and lunged after him, taking cover as they heard their friends call out for them downstairs.

"Kyser!" Ramirez's worried voice carried through the house. "Mac!"

"We're good!" Kyser called back, pulling out his gun and flicking the safety off. The pair heard Ramirez start to speak again, but his words were cut off by more gunfire, this round coming from down below. The hiding agents exchanged grim glances, but they heard Ramirez yelling for Riley and Bozer to get down, so at least they knew their colleague was alive.

"I'm going out," the medic said to Mac, getting into position and waiting for his opening.

"I'm going with you," Mac nodded.

"No, you're not," Kyser scoffed.

"Yes, I am," Mac argued with a frown.

"Mac, the guy has a gun," Kyser reminded him while raising an eyebrow. "I have a gun. Do _you_ have a gun? No. You're staying here."

Before Mac could protest—and he was about to—there was a lull in the gunfire. Kyser heard a magazine eject, and without hesitating, he launched himself from the spare room, ran down the hall, threw open the final door, and fired at the first shape he saw.

The medic almost immediately regretted his decision; there were three men in the room, all dressed in bodyarmor and wearing masks like in the lab video. The one that Kyser fired at was not the one who'd shot at Mac; this one was standing over near a large safe built into the wall. The one who'd been shooting was to Kyser's left, and the third man was by the window.

Kyser's shots hit the man in the center of the vest, knocking the wind out of him, and the medic didn't hesitate to turn and kick the original shooter's gun from his hands before he could reload, knocking him to the ground. He turned to fire at the man by the window, but the now-unarmed man by the door recovered shockingly fast and rushed him, knocking him into the wall and denting the sheetrock. The medic grunted with the impact, his gun falling from his hand, and he forced himself to ignore the pain that shot through him, catching his breath quickly as he kicked his attacker in the chest, driving him back.

Now free, Kyser dove for his pistol, managing to grab it just before his attacker's companions recovered and drew their weapons, firing in his direction. The medic scrambled for cover, finding refuge just inside the doorway of the en suite bathroom.

"Jesus, I'm over here, too!" the man Kyser had disarmed shouted at his companions, moving over towards the bedroom door to get out of the way.

"There's more downstairs!" one of the two other men yelled back. "Go help out Adams!"

"On it," the first man grunted, still sounding annoyed. Kyser heard him leaving, and his stomach dropped, hoping to God that the man wouldn't come across Mac in his trip down the stairs, and that Ramirez would be ready for him when he arrived. The medic leaned out to shoot at the other two attackers, forcing them to dive for cover.

Outside the room, the hallway had begun to fill with thick smoke, baffling the masked man making his way towards the stairs. The smoke appeared, strangely enough, to be coming from the closet, billowing out from under the door and through the bullet holes in its surface. Gun at the ready, the man yanked open the door, coughing when the white smoke came out like an avalanche, blinding him to his surroundings. This afforded Mac the perfect opportunity to emerge from his hiding place just inside the spare room door and throw the queen sized comforter in his arms over the assailant's head. The man thrashed about in his attempt to strike out at Mac and free himself from the comforter. Mac easily avoided his hits, instead grabbing him and shoving him into the open bathroom—hearing rather than seeing him fall as the smoke continued to fill the air—before slamming the door shut. He then leaned over and grabbed the strip of bedsheet he'd tied around the handle of the spare room door, pulling the door shut and hooking the other end, tied into a loop, over the bathroom door handle. When the masked man inside tried to yank the door open, the sheet held fast, keeping both doors closed.

 _One down, at least three to go,_ Mac thought to himself. He heard Riley scream below him, so he didn't hesitate to sprint down the steps, trusting that Kyser could handle the remaining two gunmen himself. By that time, the smoke from his improvised smoke bomb had started to fill the master bedroom, where Kyser and the other two attackers were. The medic was still crouched just inside the en suite bathroom, quickly disregarding the smoke once he realized Mac was the cause. His two opponents, however, were perplexed.

"The hell is that?" one of them demanded.

"Who cares? Keep going," the other ordered. Kyser waited, hearing what sounded like a drill or a saw start up, as the smoke continued to flow into the room, creating a haze that made it difficult for the medic to see his targets—and vice versa. When he was sure he had enough cover, Kyser silently slipped out of the bathroom, moving to get a better angle on where he was pretty sure the attackers were; the smoke had become so thick that he could barely make out their outlines. Kyser took aim and fired three times, watching the dark figure fall with a loud cry of pain. The man who'd been trying to drill his way into the wall safe—whom Kyser had already shot in the vest—fired in the medic's direction, and one bullet grazed his left shoulder, causing him to let out a soft grunt and move to take cover behind a bookcase.

By this time, they heard sirens approaching in the distance, and the two assailants cursed loudly. Kyser heard a window open, followed by someone shouting, "Let's go! Let's go! Leave it! Let's go!"

The medic heard two loud thumps and the distant sound of glass breaking, and then a few moments later, tires squealed.

"Kyser!" Mac shouted up urgently from below.

"Yeah!" Kyser called back down, abandoning his hiding place and carefully making his way out towards the hall, putting his gun away and covering his arm with his right hand. He came around to the top of the steps and found Mac standing about halfway up the stairs.

"You okay?" Mac asked, catching sight of the blood on his arm.

"I'm fine; what's up?" Kyser dismissed his concerns, realizing that he had been about to say something. "Is everybody okay?"

"Yeah," Mac confirmed. "One of them came in through the back door. He managed to get the jump on Riley at one point, but Ramirez took care of him. In theory I have one trapped in the bathroom, but unless that glass breaking we heard was you, he might have gotten away. Cops are almost here; Ramirez is already on the phone with Matty."

"I'll check the bathroom," Kyser volunteered. "You try to clear out this smoke. How did you even do this anyway?"

"Instant cold packs, tissues, and matches," Mac shrugged. "Among other things. There shouldn't be any _more_ smoke."

"Uh-huh," Kyser rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Go clear it out."

Mac smirked and nodded, moving from room to room and opening all the windows to help vacate the smoke. While he did so, Kyser turned his attention to the bathroom. With his gun at the ready, he freed the sheet from the doorknob and threw the door open, clearing the room. Just as Mac suspected, the window had been broken, and their suspect was nowhere to be found. The medic let out a sigh, returning to the hallway and meeting up with Mac.

"He's gone," the older man confirmed, putting his gun away.

"I figured," Mac sighed, seeming disappointed. "C'mon; let's go see the others."

The two of them made their way down the steps, meeting up with Ramirez, Bozer, and a shaken-looking Riley as they talked to the cops outside. The group was surrounded by five or six officers, looking at the five of them suspiciously. Ramirez gave them a nod of acknowledgement, jerking his head in the direction of one of the officers, who had one phone up to his ear and another in his other hand. Kyser immediately went to Riley, asking with just a look if she was alright. Riley gave a smile and a reassuring nod just as the officer in charge hung up the phone by his ear and walked over to the group, handing Ramirez the second phone he'd been holding with a sour expression.

"You're free to go," the officer told them with a frown. He looked over at Kyser, "You might want to get that arm checked out."

"Thanks," Kyser gave a smile. "'Preciate the concern."

The officer just scoffed, rounding up the rest of the cops and directing them back to their cars. Meanwhile, Ramirez brought the phone in his hand back up to his ear.

"Thanks, Matty," the operative said with a slight smirk. "Yeah, we'll let you know what we find. Bye."

With this, he hung up and turned to his four companions. "You guys okay?"

"We're fine," Kyser assured him, looking down at the cut on his left bicep. "Just a scratch. What about you guys?"

"Guy came in through the back door," Bozer explained as they made their way back inside. "Ramirez and Mac took care of him after he tried to rush Riley."

"You see what they were after upstairs?" Ramirez asked.

"The safe," Kyser replied, guiding them up the stairs and towards the master bedroom. "Seems we weren't the only ones who knew about Kinkade's notes."

"Yeah, but if they already have what we can only assume are her projects, why do they need her notes?" Riley questioned no one in particular as they all gathered near the safe in question. Mac stepped forward and picked up the thieves' abandoned drill, looking at the safe in the wall. They'd almost managed to get it open; a few more minutes was all they would have needed. The blond agent turned to his companions.

"Only one way to find out."

* * *

 **Whoo! Y'all made it through! I'm proud of you. I know this took far longer than any of us had hoped, but theoretically it's all smooth sailing from here. Mostly. I know where I'm going at least. And if I've paced it right, this particular story has 2 more chapters, and then you guys can look out for MURD 201: Exam 2. If, of course, I can convince you to stick around that long. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and keep an eye out for the next chapter!**


	3. Review

**Sweet mother of baby Jesus, this is even longer than last time, and I feel the need to apologize. It'll be worth it to get to the exam, but...damn. Anyway, before you begin, I'd like to say thank you to Haven126 for her invaluable help in this endeavor. Without her, this would not be possible. Okay, I'll stop talking. Enjoy!**

* * *

Mac jumped when he heard his phone start ringing beside him on the bed, and he let out a slow breath before he answered it, putting the call on speaker.

"Hello?" he greeted the caller, turning his attention back to the notebooks scattered around him.

"Now, I am trying real hard not to be offended, here, Mac," the blond agent felt himself smile when he heard his partner's voice, "but what's this about you being involved in a shootout and not telling me about it?"

"Y'know, most people start their conversations with some variation of the word 'hello,'" Mac informed him with a small chuckle.

"To hell with your hello!" Jack scoffed. "What the hell happened?"

"Jack, would you sit down and let me talk?" Mac could hear Matty's demand, and could practically see the icy glare she was undoubtedly shooting at the operative. After a pause, she spoke again, "Mac, sitrep. Now. Starting with what happened at the Kinkade house."

"There were four assailants at the house," Mac explained with a sigh. "Three were there when we arrived, trying to get into Doctor Kinkade's safe, where she kept all her notes on her projects. Three were upstairs. Kyser and I went up to find Doctor Kinkade's room, and that's when the shooting started. They tried to shoot me through the door, Kyser pulled me out of the way. One more came in downstairs, attacked Ramirez, Bozer, and Riley. In the end, Kyser hit one of the guys upstairs with us, but all three got away, and Ramirez shot the one downstairs. Riley's running that one through facial recognition now, and Kyser and Bozer are on their way to the hospital to talk to Ellie, Doctor Kinkade's sister. Kyser got grazed during the fight, but it was shallow; he took care of it himself. We've got alerts out to all the hospitals, checking for anyone coming in with gunshot wounds. We also managed to, ah...'borrow' some of Nuvogenix's files. Riley's trying to crack those, too; hopefully, they'll give us at least a clue as to what's going on. We also got Kinkade's notes. I'm going over them now. Did you hear back about the projects?"

"My contacts insist that there was only one contracted project stolen, as far as they know," Matty told him. "They of course wouldn't tell me which project, but they did tell me that it was an environmental initiative."

"Hmm..." Mac shuffled the files and notebooks around. "Well, then, we've got a problem."

"What kind of problem?" the dread in Jack's voice wasn't easily missed.

"Well, from Kinkade's notes, I figured out what both of the missing projects were," Mac explained. The doctor's notes were very detailed, and properly labeled in the upper right corner with the project number. "One of them, the one that's contracted, is a plastic-eating bacteria, still in development, to be used on the ever-growing island of plastic in the ocean. According to her notes, it's still extremely unstable, much too potent and too resilient to be deployed, but they're making impressive progress. The other, as I suspected, is a bioweapon, and if it wasn't contracted, then Doctor Hart has some explaining to do."

"And by bioweapon, you mean...?" Matty pressed, some annoyance—Mac wasn't sure if it was directed at him or not—in her tone.

"I'm not completely sure," Mac admitted. "Her notes have huge gaps; they're just the ideas she thinks up and works through while at home, so most of what I'm looking at is out of context. I know it's bad, I'm just...not positive what it'll do. I'm thinking it's some kind of virus, but I'm not sure."

"Well, you need to get sure," Matty told him, her voice firm. "We'll keep an eye on Hart from here, make sure he doesn't go anywhere; he's gonna have to answer for this project."

"Think he'll run before we can get him?" Jack wondered aloud.

"Unlikely," Mac shook his head. "He's arrogant; thinks we wouldn't understand what the project was about even if we were looking at a detailed report. And leaving him in play lets us see if he's reaching out to anyone—like a buyer, for example."

"Y'know, Matty, since everyone's busy, I can go up there and keep an eye on the evil nerd if you—" Jack began, but Matty cut him off.

"Not a chance, Dalton," she said sternly. Mac felt a small smirk tug at his lips when he heard his partner groan in frustration.

"Keep us updated, MacGyver," the director ordered. "I don't think I need to tell you that the bioweapon is our priority right now."

"No, you do not," Mac confirmed. "We're on it, Matty. We'll send you everything we find."

"Clock's ticking," Matty warned. They said their goodbyes and hung up, and after reading through Kinkade's notes for another half hour, there was a knock on his door. Again, Mac jumped, his muscles tensing and heart leaping into his throat.

"Jesus Christ, Mac; calm down," he scolded himself under his breath, sliding off his bed and starting towards the door. "He's not coming after you here, and Murdoc wouldn't knock."

Still, the blond agent didn't relax until he looked through the peephole and saw Ramirez standing in the hallway. Only then did he let out his breath, roll his shoulders, unlock both of the door's locks, and pull the door open.

"Hey," Ramirez gave him an easy smile. "Riley and I were thinking about getting some Chinese food; you in?"

"Sure," Mac agreed. "Riley find anything?"

"No luck on the files yet, but she's working," Ramirez reported. "She did get an ID on the guy from the house; she just sent it to your phone. You have any luck?"

"One project is a plastic eating bacteria," Mac told him. "It's also the only project that was actually under contract from the US government."

"Really?" Ramirez couldn't help but sound intrigued. "And the other?"

"A bioweapon, like I suspected," Mac sighed. "I'm thinking maybe viral, but I'm not sure."

"And it's _not_ contracted?" the other agent raised an eyebrow. "Man, I gotta say, I am already excited to arrest that asshole Hart..."

"You're not the only one," Mac laughed.

"Alright, text me your order," Ramirez sighed, checking his watch. "I'll call it in when we hear from Boze and Kyser."

"You got it," Mac nodded, then closed the door as Ramirez returned to his and Riley's room across the hall. He reflexively turned the deadbolt and flipped the bar at the top right corner, then turned, walked past the couch in the front of the room, past the first queen bed, and settled back into the bed closest to the window—the blinds on which being drawn, of course.

The tired agent rubbed his weary blue eyes and shuffled the thirteen notebooks around again. His eyes fell on a pastel blue, hardbound book at the bottom of the stack, and he picked it up and opened it. Flipping through the first few pages, he realized it was her journal, and he paused, not liking the idea of breaching the wounded woman's privacy. But, after glancing at the pile of notes regarding project 1232-K, he decided that there was no room for privacy when there was a bioweapon out in the world.

Still, to preserve as much of that privacy as possible, he avoided reading the entries at first and instead looked at the dates, deciding that he should start about a week before the attack and see if that would be enough to give him some insight into what was going on. He found the appropriate page and, with only another moment of hesitation, started reading.

* * *

 _How's Mac doing, really?_ Kyser read the text on his phone just as he and Bozer stepped off the hospital elevator. It was from Jack, and the medic felt himself smirk slightly.

 _Surprisingly better_ , he replied.

 _Are you sure? He seemed real out of it at the briefing._

Kyser rolled his eyes. _Contrary to apparent popular belief, MacGyver can get his shit together when he needs to. Now, if you're done helicopter parenting, I've got a job to do._

The medic put his phone back in his pocket, continuing to walk down the hall. Kinkade's room was in the middle of the hall on the third floor around the corner from the elevator, a fact that Kyser was not at all a fan of. Though he wasn't expecting any trouble, he couldn't help but notice that the location was a tactical nightmare. No view of the elevator or stairs, far too many sightlines from the window, only one exit. He didn't expect any trouble, but if it came, they were screwed.

Kyser shook his head quickly to clear it. He was becoming as paranoid as Mac.

"I really don't know how long I'll be, Noah," Ellie was saying as they approached the ajar door. She had her back to them, staring out the window as she spoke with a trembling voice, watching the city below. "I don't want to leave...yeah, I know, but just because it won't make a difference doesn't mean it won't make me feel better...Oh, he does not. No, he doesn't; you're overreacting...Well, if they allowed dogs in the hospital, I'd keep him, but they don't."

Kyser reached up and knocked on the open door, alerting the scientist's sister to their arrival. Ellie turned to them and gave them a small, sheepish smile.

"I'll call you back, Noah," the young woman hung up her phone, turning her full attention to the agents. "Sorry; it was my boyfriend. I had him take my dog for the day when I got the call about Abby. He's convinced my dog hates him."

"So there _is_ a dog," Bozer smiled. "We saw the bowls and bed when we came by your house."

"Yeah," Ellie gave a small smile of her own. "Titan. He's a pitbull mix we found literally on the side of the road a year ago."

"Cute," Bozer's smile became a grin.

"Ellie, this is Wilt Bozer," Kyser introduced them. "Bozer, Ellie."

"Hi," Ellie gave him a slightly forced smile before turning back to Kyser. "Did you find the safe?"

"Yeah," Kyser nodded. "Yeah, we did, ahm...unfortunately, we were not the only ones."

"What to you mean?" Ellie visibly paled.

"When we got there, there were several men already inside, trying to break into the safe," Bozer explained. "Probably the same men from the lab."

"What?" genuine fear made its way onto the young woman's face. "What—I mean...why were they...are they gonna come after me? After Abby? Should I have her transferred somewhere or—"

"Ellie, Ellie, it's okay," Kyser stepped in, cutting her panic short, his voice ever soothing. "I know you're scared, and you have every right to be, but we've got this under control."

Bozer glanced at him. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, either.

"Now, I've already called and had a couple officers assigned to guard Abby's room," the medic continued. "She'll be safe. And we'd like to escort you back to your house to grab a few things; is there someone you can stay with?"

"My boyfriend, I guess," Ellie sighed, her arms wrapping around herself almost as though she were cold. "Though I don't think I'll be leaving here much."

"The doctors say anything else?" Bozer asked curiously, his eyes full of sympathy.

"She's improving," Ellie told him with tentative hope in her expression. "She's still critical, but the fact that she's made it this long is making them optimistic. They think she might wake up soon."

"That's great!" Kyser grinned. "I'm glad. I have every confidence she'll wake up. And I know you want to stay with her, but given what happened, we can't let you go back to the house alone."

He stepped slightly to the side and raised his arm, gesturing for her to come with them. Ellie hesitated, looking over at her sister, then nodded slightly and headed out into the hallway, the two agents following close behind. Halfway to the elevator, they ran into two uniformed police officers, and Kyser smiled.

"Perfect timing," he commended them, checking them over, looking at their badges, and matching the names on their name plates with the names he'd been given over the phone, making sure they were the promised protection detail. They also matched the descriptions he'd been given for the two officers, allowing him to relax slightly. "You here for Abby Kinkade?"

Both men nodded, and Kyser turned and pointed down the hall.

"She's in room 347," he told them, then gestured to the young woman standing with them. "This is her sister Ellie. I'm Mark Kyser, and this is my associate," he nodded at Bozer. "Now, I'm sure you know the drill, but I'm going to remind you for Ellie's sake: No one is to be allowed into Doctor Kinkade's room unless it's me, Ellie, or one of my colleagues without checking their IDs under any circumstances. Doesn't matter who they are; doctor, nurse, or janitor, if their ID doesn't check out, they don't get in. Got it?"

"We got it," the taller of the two men nodded, giving Ellie a reassuring smile.

"Excellent. Then you have my number if you need anything. We'll be back in less than two hours," Kyser promised, and then they were walking again, taking the elevator down towards the parking lot. On the way out, Kyser checked his messages again, smiling and giving a soft chuckle when he saw the reply Jack had given him. It was short, only two words, and he sent an angel emoji in response as he slid into the driver's seat.

Just as they were pulling up to Ellie and Abby's house, both Kyser and Bozer got a text from Riley. The mystery man Ramirez had shot was Justin MacFarlane. He was thirty-four years old at the time of his death, and six years prior, he was dishonorably discharged from the Marine Corps for "conduct unbecoming." He then worked at as private contractor for several years before being fired for erratic behavior. After that point, he appeared to fall off the grid; Riley could find no paper trail on him.

"Everything okay?" Ellie asked from the seat behind Bozer.

"Yeah," Kyser confirmed, giving her a smile over his shoulder as he put his phone in his pocket. He decided that, for now, he wouldn't ask about Justin; he didn't think Ellie was directly involved in what happened, but she might accidentally tip someone off that they were onto them. "Everything's fine."

Bozer followed his lead, refraining from asking Ellie about the match, and opened his door, stepping out of the car. Kyser and Ellie mimicked him, and the young woman frowned, folding her arms tightly over her chest when she saw the caution tape up over the front door.

Before any of them could make a move towards the house, a blue pickup pulled up to the curb behind them, and they turned. Immediately, they saw and heard a dog barking furiously at the passenger window, and the driver reached over to open the door. The dog—a dark gray pitbull/staffie mix with a white chest, belly, and front left paw—instantly leapt from the cabin, bounding over towards the trio at a full sprint, his leash dragging behind him. Bozer and Kyser tensed for a second before Ellie knelt down and the dog ran right into her, wagging his tail furiously and licking her as he whined before rolling over for belly rubs.

"Oh yes, oh yes, what a good boy, Titan," Ellie cood, seeming at least somewhat truly happy for the first time since the agents had met her. "Yes, mommy missed you, too; yes she did! Oh, who's such a good boy? You are! Yes you are! That's my baby boy..."

The driver of the car parked and stepped out, walking around to meet them. He was young, though significantly older than Ellie; around Kyser's height of 6'1''; and had short, dark hair that was curly on top, brown eyes, and a strong jaw. He was muscularly built, wearing a dark gray t-shirt, jeans, a green flannel that was left open, and black work boots. Something about him—and, for the life of him, he couldn't articulate what—made Kyser's stomach churn instantly, but the medic kept his poker face.

"Hey," the young man greeted Ellie, barely giving Kyser and Bozer a second glance as she stood up, holding Titan's leash in one hand. The two hugged, then kissed, before separating. "I got your text; what happened?"

"Someone broke in," Ellie told him. "Apparently looking for something of Abby's. I just need to get some stuff; you didn't have to come."

"Yeah, but I wanted to," he gave a charming smile, and Ellie rolled her eyes, giving him a playful shove. At that point, she seemed to remember that Kyser and Bozer were there.

"Oh, right," she shook her head quickly and cleared her throat. "This is my boyfriend, Noah."

"Mark Kyser," the medic extended his hand, forcing his posture to remain relaxed. The young man shook his hand firmly, meeting his eyes.

"Noah Caplan," he introduced himself with a smile before turning and holding a hand out to Bozer, who shook it and gave a smile.

"Bozer," the young agent told him before turning to Ellie. "So, can I pet Titan?"

"Absolutely," Ellie smiled. Bozer grinned and held a hand out for the dog—now sitting obediently at his owner's feet—to sniff. After a second or two, the sniffing turned to licking, and he stood up, wagging his tail wildly, and he did the same when Kyser held his hand out.

"Aww, he's a sweetie," Bozer grinned, scratching behind the dog's ears.

"Thanks," Ellie gave a soft laugh.

"Hey, Boze, how about you go with Ellie so she can pack some of her stuff?" Kyser suggested. Bozer glanced at him, then nodded.

"Sure," he agreed, looking over at Ellie. "Come on."

Ellie handed the leash off to Noah, and then she and Bozer made their way into the house. While they were gone, Kyser crouched down to pet Titan.

"So, how long have you and Ellie been dating?" the tac team member asked, looking up at the man.

"About seven months," Noah replied, shifting his weight to his other foot. "Actually, seven months next Saturday."

"Oh, well, congratulations," Kyser chuckled, standing up. "How'd you meet?"

"I helped her change a flat tire," Noah told him, smiling slightly to himself. "She popped a tire on the highway just after midnight, and I happened to be driving by."

"Well it was nice of you to stop," Kyser commended him. "Listen, is there anything _you_ could tell me about Abby? Anything her sister might not want to say?"

"I'd love to help, but Abby wasn't exactly my biggest fan," Noah rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke.

"Isn't," Kyser corrected casually.

"I'm sorry?" Noah tilted his head in confusion.

"Isn't your biggest fan," Kyser clarified. "Unless she had a change of heart at some point, that is. Y'know, since she's still alive."

"Right," Noah blinked, giving a disarming smile that Kyser saw right through. "Sorry; I misspoke."

"Of course," Kyser's own smile gave nothing away. "So why doesn't she like you?"

"I think it's the age difference between me and Ellie," Noah shrugged. "And I get it; six years is a lot, but still."

"Right," the medic nodded, then gave a shrug. "Well, Ellie's an adult; she can make her own choices."

"That's what we said," Noah agreed. "Sometimes I feel like she forgets that she's not actually Ellie's mom. And seriously, their whole lives have been 'The World According to Abby,' so you'd think she could back off now that they're both adults, but apparently not."

"Well, family never stops being family," Kyser sighed, putting his hands in his pockets.

"I guess not," Noah allowed. "Doesn't make it any less irritating, though."

There was a pause, and then the young man shook his head quickly.

"Still, I hope she pulls through," he remarked, leaning down to pet Titan on the head. Kyser couldn't help but notice that the dog's tail stopped wagging when he did. "As much as they fight, I've also seen how much they lean on each other."

Kyser didn't get the chance to respond; at that moment, the front door opened again, and Ellie emerged with a backpack on, a large duffle bag over her shoulder, and the dog bed under her arm.

"Ready to go?" Noah asked with a smile.

"Yeah," Ellie nodded. "I'll get Titan set up at your place, and then can you drive me back to the hospital."

"Sure," Noah agreed.

Bozer opened his mouth to protest—there was no guarantee that the people who'd broken in weren't going to come after Ellie, so they shouldn't let her out of their protective custody—but Kyser put a hand on his arm, stopping him.

"Okay, well, we will let you know if we find anything," the medic promised, giving the couple a smile and reaching out to shake Noah's hand again, a gesture that the young man accepted and Bozer mimicked. The four of them—and Titan—said their goodbyes, and then went to their respective cars. Once alone, Bozer turned to the medic.

"Alright, what's going on?" he asked incredulously.

"Shh," the medic hushed him as he took his phone from his pocket. He watched the blue truck pull away with a frown, then brought the phone up to his ear as it rang.

* * *

Mac lifted his head when he heard Ramirez's phone vibrate loudly across the room. After spending another thirty minutes reading through Kinkade's notes and journal, he'd decided to take a short break and come look over the takeout menu Ramirez had obtained. Riley was hard at work as she sat cross-legged on her bed, which was the one farthest from the door, and barely reacted as Ramirez answered the phone.

"Hey, man," Ramirez greeted the caller with a grin. "You and Boze down for Chinese food?"

Kyser said something Mac couldn't make out, but whatever it was made the other man's smile vanish, and he made a sour face.

"Her and Mac," he confirmed, sounding a little disappointed but mostly curious, looking over at them as Riley looked up from her screen. "What is it?"

There was another pause, and then Ramirez took the phone away from his ear and tapped the screen.

"Okay, go," the tac team member ordered.

"Riley, I need you to look up a name for me," Kyser's voice drifted into the room from Ramirez's phone. "Noah Caplan. He's Ellie's boyfriend. Between six foot and six-foot-two, dark hair, brown eyes, twenty-five years old."

"Got him," Riley said after a few seconds.

"Can you track his phone for me?"

Riley hit a few keys on her laptop, her eyes darting around the screen, and then she frowned.

"He doesn't have one," the analyst told him. "At least, not one that's registered under his name."

Mac could almost hear Kyser frown. "Okay, well, what about Ellie? She called him at the hospital and texted him while we were driving to her house; can you track that number?"

"Yeah," Riley confirmed, finding the number in mere seconds. "They're travelling east on Sheridan. Sending the trace to your phone."

"Thank you," the medic said sincerely. "There's something about this guy. I don't like him."

"You're not the only one," Mac scoffed. "According to Abby's journal, she's not a fan, either."

"I heard that," Kyser chuckled. "Anyway, Boze and I are gonna trail him for a bit before we head back to the hotel."

Mac instantly tensed at this, his stomach dropping. He didn't like the idea of Kyser and Bozer being away from the group for so long. Of course, he trusted Kyser to protect his best friend, but he was just one man, and it wasn't like Murdoc was above blitz attacks. The longer they were away from the group, the more nervous Mac became. Plus...and he didn't like to think about it, but that was all his mind seemed able to do...he had his suspicions on who Murdoc was going to target first. Bozer was the easiest target; he was so trusting, so compassionate, that it wouldn't be hard to lure him, and he was the newest agent of the five of them. Not to mention the fact that he knew that Murdoc would love to rattle his cage by striking so close to home. And if Murdoc blitzed Kyser like Drew had blitzed Jack, Bozer would likely be as helpless as he'd been. He knew—he _knew_ —he was being paranoid, but still, his stomach churned, and he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to swallow his protests.

"Alright," Ramirez agreed with a sigh, seeming a bit disappointed. "We'll share intel when you guys get back. Stay safe."

"You, too," Kyser chuckled softly. "We'll talk to you guys soon."

"Text me your Chinese food orders," Ramirez rushed to add before his friend hung up. Kyser and Boze both promised they would, and then they all said their goodbyes—Mac very grudgingly.

"Looks like we're getting pizza for lunch," Ramirez pouted. "I'll order."

"Get me cheesy bread," Riley demanded without looking up.

"You got it," Ramirez nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Mac caught the tac agent studying him. "Hey Riles, what do you say we move this party over to Mac's room?"

Riley looked up at him in confusion, and Ramirez shrugged. "It's bigger, and that way I can bug him instead of you."

If the analyst picked up on what Ramirez was actually trying to do—ease Mac's anxiety by circling the wagons around him and keeping everyone he possibly could in his line of sight—she didn't say anything.

"Fine by me," she agreed with a shrug, and Mac smirked slightly, shooting Ramirez a grateful glance.

They gathered their things and headed across the hall, Riley settling on what would be Bozer's bed, Mac resettling on his own, and Ramirez plopped down in the chair by the desk, putting his feet up and turning on the TV. After Ramirez had called in their pizza order and Riley had slipped on her noise-cancelling headphones, the man at the desk glanced over at Mac.

"Y'know, Mac," the older man sighed, causing the blond agent to look up from the notes scattered around him. "I'm no Jack, and I'm no Bozer, but I'm a pretty good listener if you wanna talk about what's going on inside that head of yours."

Mac let out a weary sigh. "Is it that obvious?"

Ramirez gave a small, humorless laugh. "Only to everyone with eyes."

The younger man groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Hey, if you don't want to talk, that's fine, too." Ramirez held up his hands. "I'm just saying, sometimes it helps to vent to someone who's not all up in your business every day. We've got your six, too, Mac. Whatever you need."

Mac felt himself smile. It was comforting, really, to hear so many people say the words, even if he was a bit annoyed with himself being so easy to read.

"I'm good, Ramirez, but thank you," he said sincerely. Ramirez smiled at him.

"Now, I've heard stories about you from Jack," the operative explained, picking up the channel guide and searching it. "So, I'm gonna turn on Jeopardy, and if you answer all the questions right, I'll pay for your portion of the pizza."

Mac chuckled. "Throw in tonight's Chinese and you're on," he bargained. "And to up the ante, I'll be reading these notes at the same time."

"Okay, showoff," Ramirez raised an eyebrow and smirked, flipping the channel. Jeopardy was about four minutes from starting. "You're on."

Mac smirked back at him, shaking his head as he turned his attention to the notes in his lap, waiting for the show to start.

* * *

It wasn't until nearly seven that night that Bozer and Kyser finally returned, carrying bags of Chinese food with them after talking briefly with Ramirez an hour earlier, letting him know they were headed back.

"Finally!" Ramirez groaned, snatching the bags from them. "I'm starving."

"Hello to you, too," Kyser rolled his eyes as Ramirez distributed the dinner. "If everyone's got their stuff together, I think we should check in with Matty."

"Agreed," Mac and Riley said in unison. They certainly hadn't found anything good. Mac volunteered his phone, calling their boss and putting the call on speaker. Matty picked up on the second ring.

"You guys find that bioweapon yet?" Matty asked in place of a greeting.

"Just about," Kyser confirmed. "The sister's boyfriend is definitely involved. We tailed him back to a secluded mansion in Broadview; there are about ten guys in there, including one with his arm in a sling—I'm willing to bet that was courtesy of yours truly. From what I could see, they've got some pretty heavy-duty firepower in there. Plus Abby and Ellie's dog, but I think he's on our side."

"Boyfriend's name is Noah Caplan," Riley chimed in, pulling up everything she had on him. "US Army for three years before earning a dishonorable discharge, and just like Justin MacFarlane, he pretty much dropped off the grid about two years ago. Did a little more digging on MacFarlane, found out he was a member of a group called GLA—Green Living America. Essentially, they're a radical Greenpeace. They've led attacks on oil companies, drill sites, pipelines, manufacturers of various plastic products, factories...basically, if it causes a significant amount of pollution, they've targeted it. It's pretty cult-like, where members essentially fall off the face of the Earth upon joining and only a select few continue to interact with society. Not quite sure who the leader is; there's not a whole lot on these guys."

"What're you thinking about the sister?" Matty asked. "She just convenient or is she a part of this?"

"I don't think she realizes what her boyfriend is doing," Kyser shook his head, folding his arms over his chest. "She's genuinely upset about her sister; I think he just used Ellie to get insight about Abby. Ellie's with her sister at the hospital now with two cops on the door, so she should be fine until we take Noah in."

"Okay," their boss allowed. "What about the bioweapon?"

"It's a weaponized strain of the Bas-Congo virus," Mac told her, looking at his laptop at the decrypted project file Riley had sent him. "It causes a hemorrhagic fever. During an outbreak in 2009, two out of three people died, both of them young teens, and death occurred within three days of symptoms. An adult survived, so it seems to be more deadly to children than adults, but with the modifications made, I can't be sure that's true anymore. Abby and her team essentially made the virus stronger—mutated it to a more powerful strain—in order to develop a stronger vaccine against it."

"When I took the files, I also installed a worm on their server," Riley explained, pulling up what she'd found on her screen and sending it to Matty in the war room. "I've been using it to dig up some dirt on Hart. I got into his emails. He and Kinkade were seriously fighting about this project; they were arguing about just how strong and resilient the virus had to be before the vaccine could be developed. Kinkade thought that making the virus too strong would be too dangerous. Apparently, the project was formerly classified as red biotech—medical—but Hart changed the classification to black. Kinkade was furious, but Hart told her that the project had been picked up by the government—which was a lie—and when she threatened to quit the project, he threatened to fire her from the company and have her prosecuted for breach of contract."

"What a dick!" Jack spoke up for the first time, making his team laugh.

"I've got dibs on arresting that bastard," Ramirez chimed in.

"I also found emails between Hart and a Chechen buyer for the weaponized virus," Riley added with a small smirk. "They'd arranged a sale date for next week."

"Oh, I am _so_ excited," Ramirez said, half to himself.

"We have the house on satellite, Matty," Kyser broke in. "Riley's monitoring Noah's phone and every number that connects with his, so we're monitoring their communication. They have no idea we're onto them, so we've got a little time. We're going to get a plan together now, wait until it gets dark, then move on the compound. Local PD already agreed to provide support. I know the guy who leads SWAT around here; he's good people. We'll be in good hands."

"What about Kinkade?" their boss pressed. "You think they'll come after her again?"

"Noah would be the only one with even a chance," Kyser sighed. "But we can't ban him from the room without arousing too much suspicion, and if we tell the detail to keep an eye on him, we may spook him and he could have the GLA accelerate their plans. Honestly, though, I don't think he'd risk trying anything with Ellie in the room, or with cops right outside, and I also sincerely doubt he could ever convince Ellie to leave her sister right now. But again, even if he did, he wouldn't risk it with the cops."

"Plus, they did go after her notes," Mac pointed out. "I think that tells us they didn't quite get what they wanted the first time around. They may keep her alive for information thinking they can control her using Ellie as a bargaining chip."

"I think we just have to leave her in play for now," Ramirez shrugged.

"Fair enough. Keep me posted," Matty ordered, and then the meeting was over.

"Eat fast," Kyser told them, sitting down on the edge of Bozer's bed and opening his orange chicken, tearing open a pair of chopsticks as he did so. "The sun'll be setting soon, and we've gotta get this plan together before these guys have a chance to do anything with that bioweapon."

"Well, twist my arm," Ramirez rolled his eyes, snatching up a container of fried rice and a pair of chopsticks.

"Shut the fuck up, Eric," Kyser laughed good-naturedly.

"Ricardo, why does he call you Eric?" Riley asked.

"Because he misheard someone introducing me and I thought it was hilarious so I didn't correct him," Ricardo chuckled.

"He's an asshole, is why," Kyser grumbled.

"Hey, now, in the interest of avoiding an argument, let's work while we eat," Mac interrupted with a small laugh. "Riley, what are we dealing with?"

* * *

Noah stood beside Abby's bed in the dimly-lit room, studying her, his expression stoic. Ellie was at his apartment; he'd convinced her to get some sleep in a real bed on the condition that he stay with Abby for at least part of the night. He was nothing if not a man of his word.

What surprised him, though, was when he watched her eyes slowly open. The young man smiled to himself, glancing at the half-open door behind which the protection detail stood. As expected, they were barely paying attention to him; they were looking for incoming threats, not the sister's boyfriend, dutifully staying by Abby's side. He turned his attention back to Abby, who was starting to realize who was standing by her bedside. The scientist's drugged, weary eyes widened in slow, delayed horror, and she reached for the button on the remote by her hand that would call the nurse, but Noah beat her to it, snatching up the remote and placing it out of reach.

"Shh, shh, shh, now, let's not do anything stupid," he tsked quietly, his voice soothing as he sat down in the chair beside her. Abby's eyes followed his every move, wide and full of fear, even though her movements were slow. Noah smirked.

"Yeah, they've got you on some pretty nice drugs, don't they?" he sneered. "I gotta tell ya, it is so good to see you with that tube down your throat. Finally found a way to shut you up."

He laughed ever-so-quietly to himself. Then his eyes became hard, leaning towards her and keeping his voice low.

"You remember what I told you I'd do to Ellie if you didn't open that safe?" he asked, watching her eyes carefully. She couldn't speak, but her eyes told him that she did.

"I'll do worse if you decide to try and get help," he warned darkly. Then he gave a slight smile.

"Don't worry; she's safe for now," he promised. "I convinced her to go to my apartment, hang out with the dog, get some real sleep on a real bed. When we're done here, I'll be going to join her."

He pulled his chair a bit closer to her, resettling with a soft sigh, before he continued, "Now, I'm sure you're wondering what I could possibly want from you now, and the answer is simple: First, I want you to keep your big mouth shut about what happened. Second, I want you to tell me everything about that second project we took, because I think you lied to me; it's not harmless. In fact, I think it could be very useful to me and my friends. You don't have to say anything right now, obviously, but soon. Do you understand?"

Abby stared at him, utterly horrified, but Noah knew he'd given her no real choice. The wounded scientist gave the smallest of nods, and Noah smiled.

"Good," he approved, patting her hand as he stood up. "I'm going to see your sister; you should get some rest."

With this, he headed back out into the hall, giving the two cops a smile and a thank you on his way, as well as telling them that he'd bring Ellie back as soon as she woke up. They hardly paid him any mind, and before long, he was headed back to his apartment.

* * *

Ellie was outside when Noah pulled into the parking lot, holding Titan on his leash. She'd decided to take the dog on a walk, finding herself unable to sleep despite how exhausted she was. Titan was also wearing a muzzle, since he had a bad habit of trying to eat gross things on the ground. She hated that it made him look so scary, but he'd gotten himself sick a few times, eating sidewalk "food," so she wasn't going to risk it. The nineteen-year-old watched her boyfriend pull into his parking spot in front of her, shielding her eyes from his headlights.

"Ellie, what are you doing out?" Noah asked as soon as he stepped out from behind the wheel. "You're supposed to be getting some sleep."

"I can't sleep," Ellie shrugged. "Thought I'd try to burn off some nervous energy. What are you doing back?"

"You know how much hospitals freak me out," Noah shook his head as he came over to her. "Plus I have to be up early tomorrow. Babe, if anything changes, they'll call and let us know, and I will drive you right back over there."

Ellie hesitated, then gave a nod, still clearly not happy about the situation.

"But..." Ellie looked back up at him, seeing the nervousness on his face, as if he didn't know how to bring up the topic. "I really think you should be realistic about this."

"What do you mean?" the teenager asked, suddenly guarded.

"Babe, I just want you to be prepared for everything," the concern in his eyes looked sincere, but Ellie still frowned. "El, she was shot seven times; you've gotta know that her odds aren't great."

"Why would you even say that to me?" Elli demanded harshly, the very idea that he might be right making her sick. "She's my _sister_ , Noah, and she practically raised me since I was thirteen! She's going to be okay. She _has_ to be."

"Ellie I just hate seeing you upset," Noah's brow furrowed, giving her those puppy eyes she loved. "I just want you to be prepared so you're not devastated _if_ things don't go the way you want them to."

Ellie frowned at him, honestly unnerved—and she couldn't quite say why. What he'd said was rude, uncalled for, but not inherently unsettling. After a moment, the reason for her uneasiness finally hit her.

"Noah, how did you know how many times she'd been shot?" she asked hesitantly. Noah blinked at her, tilting his head in confusion. Ellie took a small step back from him.

"I never told you how many times she was shot," the teenager frowned. "We've barely talked about what happened, just how she's doing. The doctors wouldn't have told you, and the story hasn't hit the news, so how did you know?"

As she spoke, she reached down and put her hand on Titan's head. The dog was sitting at her side and growling, now, sensing her discomfort. Noah let out a weary sigh, rubbing his brow.

"Y'know, El," he sounded exhausted and a bit annoyed when he spoke, "sometimes, you're just a bit too smart for your own good."

Before she could process his words, he had her in a tight sleeper hold, and Ellie couldn't even scream as she fought uselessly against his grip. Titan started barking furiously, slamming himself into Noah's legs and trying to bite him through his muzzle, but to no avail. In just a few seconds, Ellie went limp in his arms, her world fading to blackness.

* * *

Bozer, Mac, and Kyser crept silently through the trees surrounding the mansion's expansive grounds, Kyser leading the way in full tac gear and flanked on both sides by members of the SWAT team. Dozens more had circled around the property, taking their positions.

"How're we lookin', Riley?" Kyser asked quietly, settling into position. He could see the entire back of the house, including the large pool, pool house, and garage.

"I've got about twenty people inside," the analyst reported. She and Ramirez were waiting in the van, watching the house through various thermal cameras and an overlay of all the cell phone signals in the area. "Four are upstairs, five seem to be making their rounds around the inside of the house, two are circling the outside of the house, two are in one of the back rooms on the first floor, and the rest are in the living room. There's also what appears to be a dog going ballistic in another one of the first floor rooms."

"Gotta be Titan," Bozer spoke up quietly.

"Everybody, be alert," Kyser hissed into his coms. "We've got at least one friendly inside, and if anyone shoots that dog, I reserve the right to shoot _you_."

"I think you guys are gonna need a distraction before you can breach," Ramirez spoke up.

"Eric's right," Kyser agreed. "From what we saw yesterday, the odds are high that most, if not all of those people are armed."

Mac looked over at the garage, situated near the pool house, and smiled.

"Leave that to me," he whispered, suddenly darting from cover.

"Mac!" Kyser snapped quietly, but it was no use, so he let out a weary sigh. "Boze, stay here."

With this, he followed the blond agent as he slipped into the garage, using the flashlight on his knife to look around. He grabbed a medium-sized, rectangular, disposable tin pan, a bottle of motor oil, and a big bottle of brake fluid, then started to exit and head back outside, but Kyser stopped him.

"Mac, where the hell are you going?" the medic hissed.

"Pool house," Mac replied quietly. Kyser gave a soft groan.

"Fine, then stay behind me, for the love of God," he ordered, his annoyance only half fake. Mac nodded, and the two of them silently made their way out of the garage and towards the pool house, slipping around the tables and chairs and into the structure. Inside, there was a kitchenette, a bathroom, a sitting area with a TV, a small bedroom, and a storage closet for all of the pool-related tools. Mac made a beeline for the closet, opening it wide. He quickly found what he was looking for: a large bucket of pool chlorine.

"Can you hurry up?" Kyser asked, pressing himself against the wall by the window as Mac set the tin pan on the floor and dumped the granules of pool chlorine into it, filling it about half way.

"I'm ready to go," Mac told him. "Once I pour the brake fluid and oil on this, it'll...y'know what? Not important. It'll distract them; that's all that matters."

"Okay, well, you're not going to have a huge window of opportunity," Kyser sighed. Mac grabbed the tin, motor oil, and brake fluid and walked over to the door, putting his hand on the handle.

"Tell me when."

Kyser hesitated, then looked out the window. He saw the patrolman moving to switch places with the man out front, and when his back was turned and he was a good distance from them, he motioned for Mac to go. The blond agent quickly slipped out of the front door and around the pool. He placed the tin on the stones surrounding the pool, away from anything flammable, then poured the brake fluid and motor oil over it. He then tossed the bottles aside and started half-running back towards their other colleagues, Kyser on his heels.

"Everybody, get ready to move on the signal," Mac breathed into his coms.

"What signal?" Riley asked in confusion.

"You'll know it," Mac promised. About twenty seconds after he spoke, they watched as a column of smoke began to rise from the tin, and a few seconds after that, the column of smoke became a column of fire. Both of the patrolmen came running around the back, yelling and shouting for backup, drawing people inside out to the back. Kyser knew better than to waste the chance, and gave the order.

"Everybody, move in."

* * *

When Ellie started to wake up again, her head was pounding, her right shoulder was throbbing, and her right arm was completely numb, dancing with pins and needles. With a soft moan, she shifted and started opening her eyes, her vision blurry with sleep.

"Well, good morning, sleepy head."

Ellie recognized Noah's voice instantly, and she felt confusion settle over her. The teenager forced her eyes open wide, blinking her vision clear, and looked around. She found Noah sitting at a desk to her right, and quickly realized that she was lying on the floor. At first, her confusion only worsened, but when she tried to sit up only to find her wrists and ankles bound with duct tape, she remembered, and started to panic, scrambling on the hardwood floor. Noah was at her side in a heartbeat, kneeling down beside her and putting his right hand on her shoulder while his left hand cradled her jaw.

"Shh, shh, shh, calm down; it's okay; you're okay," he soothed.

"Don't touch me!" Ellie snapped, trying to shove him away as tears fell down her face. "Don't _fucking_ touch me! Stay away from me!"

Noah let out an exasperated sigh, then grabbed her shoulders and lifted her upright so she wasn't lying on her arm anymore.

"Just calm down, El," Noah's voice was ever-gentle, but Ellie wasn't about to let her guard down.

"You shot Abby," the young girl's voice trembled, her tears continuing to fall. "Didn't you?"

"Yes," Noah admitted plainly, only barely hesitating. "I did. And I'm sorry. But, hey, she's still alive, and we need something from her."

"So, what, I'm just bait?" Ellie balked at him. How had she not seen it? How did she not realize he'd been using her the whole time?

"Well, yeah," Noah nodded with a bit of a shrug. "But just for a little while longer. Once Abby gives us what we need, we'll let you go, and then you never have to see me again."

"Who the hell is 'we?'" Ellie demanded, trying to figure out where she was.

"It's a long story," Noah sighed. "Just relax, El; this'll be over before you know it."

Ellie was quiet for a moment, studying him, before a thought came to her and her stomach sank.

"Where's Titan?" she demanded, causing Noah to groan and stand up, rubbing his brow as he muttered under his breath. "Noah, where the _fuck_ is Titan? What did you do to my dog?!"

"Oh, my God, El, can you stop obsessing over that stupid mutt for five goddamn seconds?!" Noah snapped at her. Ellie felt her blood boil, and she brought her bound feet up and drove them hard into his leg, making him give a grunt of pain, and she kept kicking, all of her anger and frustration releasing with each hit.

"You lying—piece of—shit!" she yelled through her teeth, her words punctuating each strike. "What the _fuck_ —did you do—to my dog?!"

After the first one, her hits weren't hard for Noah to block and dodge, but they still made him angry. He stomped down hard on her legs, pinning them to the floor, and then backhanded her across the face, making her cry out, feeling her lip split.

"Why don't you do yourself a favor, El, and just shut up and wait it out?" he suggested with a growl. Before Ellie had a chance to respond—although she probably couldn't have if she wanted to, as she was too busy crying—they heard a loud commotion from outside, people shouting and running across the floor.

"What the hell...?" Noah muttered, stepping off of her legs. They heard a door break, and the twenty-five-year-old cursed under his breath, pulling a knife from his pocket and slicing Ellie's ankles free. He pulled a gun from behind his back, then yanked her to her feet.

"Come on," he ordered gruffly. "And El, if you give me any trouble, I swear to _God_ I will kill you. Got it?"

Ellie nodded quickly, terror in her eyes, and allowed him to pull her from the room. Outside, she saw several men running through the house, all of them armed, as other men in tactical gear shouted at and chased them. They could hear Titan barking loudly from somewhere in the house, blending in with the madness, and Ellie let herself be relieved for a moment that he was still alive. Noah quickly pulled her into the chaos, making a beeline for the back door, shoving people aside as they went.

When they finally made it outside, they were met by the man who'd driven her to her house earlier that day—Kyser—in full body armor, aiming his rifle at him. Noah immediately pulled her close, using her as a shield and putting the gun up against her temple. Ellie whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, and when she opened her eyes, MacGyver and Bozer were standing beside the man.

"Let her go, Noah," MacGyver ordered. "It's over; look around."

All around them, people were being handcuffed and arrested. Several SWAT agents were turning their attention to them. They were surrounded.

"Any of you come any closer, and she's dead," Noah snarled.

"There's nowhere to go," MacGyver told him, his voice calm and steady. He kept casting reassuring glances her way.

"There is if you want her to walk away from this!" Noah snapped angrily, his eyes flashing with rage and panic. He pointed the gun at Mac, "Either you get me the fuck out of here, or you become the reason she dies!"

MacGyver opened his mouth ot say something else, but before he could, Titan emerged from the house, still barking furiously all the while, and launched himself at Noah's outstretched arm, sinking his teeth in and making him cry out in pain. He go of Ellie and fell to the ground as Titan shook his head back and forth, tearing at the flesh and muscle of his arm. Noah screamed, his grip on the gun releasing. Kyser ran forward and kicked the gun away from the younger man's hand, and tried to pull Titan off, but it was no use. MacGyver and Bozer, meanwhile, ran over to where Ellie had fallen in the grass and pulled her away from where Noah lay screaming. As MacGyver cut her hands free, Ellie snapped out of her stunned trance.

"Titan!" she called loudly. "Titan, out! To me!"

And just like that, the dog released his grip on her ex, instead turning and sprinting over to her, whining and wagging his tail as he licked her face and arms and neck—wherever he could reach, really. Ellie hugged him tight and sobbed into his fur.

"Are you okay?" MacGyver asked her, looking at her in concern as Kyser went about cuffing Noah. Ellie gave a trembling nod.

"Thank you," she gasped as the wriggling dog in her arms continued to try to get as close to her as physically possible. "Thank you so much."

"Don't mention it," MacGyver chuckled.

"You really should be thanking Titan, here," Bozer grinned, reaching out extending his hand to him, waiting for Titan to sniff and lick him before scratching the dog behind his ears. "What a good boy! What a good, good boy! Can you shake?"

He offered his hand to the dog, and Titan enthusiastically placed his paw in it. Bozer shook his paw with a smile.

"Good boy," he approved.

"What's going to happen to him?" Ellie asked, suddenly terrified. It looked like they thought she meant Noah, so she rushed to continue, "They're not gonna make me put him down, are they? He was just trying to protect me; he's not aggressive at all—"

"Ellie, Titan will be just fine," MacGyver assured her. "This was pretty cut-and-dry defense of the owner."

"And I will _personally_ testify on Titan's behalf if I have to," Bozer chimed in, and his friend nodded in agreement. Ellie let out a shaky sigh of relief.

"Thank you," she said again, kissing Titan on top of his head.

"Come on," MacGyver offered her a hand and helped her to her feet. "Let's get you back to your sister."

* * *

"Are you sure he's still here?" Ramirez asked as he and the rest of the Phoenix crew made their way through the nearly-abandoned Nuvogenix facility. They'd wrapped things up with Noah and Ellie thirty minutes earlier, and had dropped Ellie and Titan at the hospital—given the circumstances and Titan's heroism, Kyser had convinced the staff to let the dog stay in the room with Ellie and Abby—before Riley reported that Hart was still at the lab and they could wrap this whole thing up that night.

"According to his cell phone's GPS and the fact that the system doesn't have him signing out yet," Riley confirmed, glancing at her phone.

"Calm down, Eric," Kyser rolled his eyes. "You'll get to arrest him."

"I'm excited," Ramirez grinned. His colleagues chuckled to themselves. They wove through the labyrinth of hallways quickly, finding Hart's office without much trouble. Sure enough, the scientist was inside, and when he looked up and saw then, he made a face of pure annoyance.

"What the hell are you people doing back here?" he demanded with a scoff. "Did you find my projects?"

"Y'know, we did," Ramirez confirmed, stepping closer to where he sat at his desk. "And you wanna know what we found out while we were looking, you stupid, pompous son of a bitch?"

"I beg your pardon," Hart gaped at him, although he did look terrified behind the incredulity.

"We found your emails with your Chechen buyer," Ramirez grinned, almost giddy, grabbing the man by the arm and hauling him to his feet, slapping handcuffs tightly on his wrists.

"What, no! Both of those projects were contracted; what are you talking about?" Hart denied desperately, though it was clear that he knew he was caught.

"Oh, it makes me _so_ happy to say this," Ramirez let out a satisfied sigh. "Doctor Nigel Hart, you are under arrest for treason."

"Satisfied?" Kyser smirked at him.

"Very," Ramirez nodded. "Now let's drop this dumb son of a bitch off with the FBI and go get some sleep."

* * *

Mac woke up with a start around four the next morning, managing to get a whole five hours of sleep—it was actually pretty good for him, lately. But, it was clear that he wasn't going back to sleep that night, so with a sigh, he rolled over and grabbed his phone off the nightstand, texting his check-in. Before they left, the five of them had gathered and come up with a few check-ins, just in case they were gone a while. Matty had picked "choose a color that starts with the same letter as your first name" for that morning.

The blond agent added "Aquamarine" to the group chat, watching Bozer's phone light up on the nightstand, then got out of bed, slipping on his shoes and a shirt. Then, he grabbed a room key and the bag containing his laptop and all the files on Murdoc he'd brought with him and shuffled towards the hotel room door, undoing the locks and slipping into the hallway as quietly as he could. He didn't want to wake his colleagues, so he decided to go hang out in the business center for a little while. After swiping in, he selected a cubicle right smack in the line of sight of the security camera in the corner. As expected, he was alone. The blond agent settled into his seat and sent a text to Bozer and Kyser, telling them where to find him when they woke up, then dove into his work.

As usual, he was going in circles, and he knew it, but it was marginally better than sitting around and waiting. They hadn't made it through all the evidence Murdoc left behind—there were at least a dozen boxes, all of them filled to capacity, and while all of it had been painstakingly logged, he'd barely made a dent in analyzing it. He had a list of the items in front of him. Some of the items—like the containers of liquid and powdered acids, car battery, and leather roll of tools—were horrifying to think about what Murdoc could do with them. Others—like the concertina, inflatable unicorn inner tube, and fifty-seven ping-pong balls—were just frustrating, confusing, and useless. He was certain that Murdoc left him some kind of clue, either to where he was going or what he was planning, but whatever it was was hidden in a sea of evidence that was overwhelming just to look at. The list alone was over five pages long, single spaced and double columned. But still, he pressed on, going through each item, determined to find the needle in the haystack, the pattern.

"Mac," the agent jumped and whirled in his chair when he heard his name, finding himself looking at Kyser. The medic held up his hands with a half-smile, as if trying to calm him down. "Easy, man. It's just me."

"Kyser," Mac breathed. "Hey. What are you doing up?"

"It's almost six-thirty," the medic chuckled. Mac blinked and looked down at his phone. Sure enough, he'd been at it for over two hours. The agent groaned to himself; over two hours with hardly any progress. Great.

"Boze is dragging his feet," Kyser continued. "But Riley, Eric, and I are going to hit up the free breakfast before our flight; care to join us?"

"Sure," Mac agreed, gathering his things and putting them away. He unlocked his phone and opened up the group chat, making sure everyone had checked in.

Matty had added " _Magenta_ " about an hour after him.

Jack, to his surprise, was next, offering up " _jade green_."

Riley, obviously, put in " _red_."

Bozer was typing, according to the chat, and soon tossed out " _watermelon_ " as his check-in color. Mac scoffed, and as he suspected, the others began calling him out almost instantly.

Jack went first. _That's not a color, Boze_.

 _SO not a color_ , Riley added as Mac shifted over to let Kyser read over his shoulder.

 _It's the color. Of a fucking. Watermelon._ Bozer was clearly still tired. And cranky.

Mac laughed to himself and was quick to reply, _Watermelons are, like, at least 3, arguably 4 colors_.

 _Fine_ , both Mac and Kyser could almost hear him groan. _Water_.

 _That's still not a color_ , Matty wasn't going to let him slide either.

 _OKAY THEN WHY DON'T YOU SMARTASSES GIVE ME A COLOR THAT STARTS WITH W?!_

Mac and Kyser both laughed out loud when all four of them, almost simultaneously, gave the same answer.

 _White._

 _Boze. White._

 _Uh, white?_

 _White, dude._

Bozer didn't respond right away, and agent and medic headed out to the breakfast area, finding Riley and Ramirez laughing hysterically at one of the tables.

"C'mon, guys, let's not be too hard on him," Mac snickered as he and Kyser sat down with them. "He's tired."

"He tried to go with water," Ramirez gasped out between laughs.

At that moment, Mac and Riley's phones buzzed, and they looked at them only to burst out laughing again, showing the screens to their colleagues. It was just four words from Bozer.

 _I hate you all._

The four of them, still grinning, went and got their food, and by the time they'd filled their plates, Bozer had joined them.

"Not a single word," he warned through his teeth, seeing his friends all smirking at him.

"Hey, don't worry about it, Boze," Mac smiled at him. "We all have off mornings."

"Alright, we can make fun of Bozer on the plane," Kyser teased. "Wheels up in an hour and a half; let's go."

* * *

That night, after the sun had set and they'd all completed their work for the day, Riley sat on her bed in front of her laptop, on a video call with Billy.

"So just...run that by me again," Riley said between laughs. "You...you had to chase this guy down the street in a chicken suit?"

"No, no, no, _he_ was in the chicken suit," Billy told her with a grin. " _I_ was riding a small motorcycle."

"How does that scenario even happen?" the analyst's sides hurt from laughing. Billy had been telling her about the last job he and his family had done, and it had been a wild ride from start to finish.

"He had a head start!" Billy said almost defensively. "And traffic was at a standstill; I was never gonna catch him in a car."

"Man, I wish someone got this on video," Riley shook her head, making a mental note to look for traffic cam footage of the incident later.

"Sorry, no luck there," Billy shrugged. "But what have you been up to? I feel like we haven't talked in forever."

"We literally talked, like, two days ago, but I see your point," Riley teased, then gave a shrug. "Nothing too exciting. Not a whole lot I can really tell you. Oh! But Boze might be seriously considering getting a dog."

"Oh really?" Billy raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I mean, I wouldn't be surprised, after our last assignment. We met this dog that was _so cute_ and Boze was just all over him. Hold on; I think I have a video."

Riley leaned over and grabbed her phone, unlocking it quickly and opening the camera roll. Her eyes lit up when she found the video.

"Aha! There it is," she smiled. "I'll send it to you; just a se—"

The analyst trailed off, her smile vanishing in a heartbeat. A picture had caught her eye, and her brow furrowed in confusion.

"What?" Billy asked, sensing her unease.

Riley didn't answer, tapping on the image and opening it. The second she did, the color drained from her face and her breath froze in her throat.

It was a picture of her. Asleep. In her bed. Taken two nights ago. From her camera. While she was home alone. In her locked-down apartment.

With a trembling hand, she went back to her camera roll, scrolling through the pictures, and she soon felt tears well up in her eyes. There were nearly a dozen pictures, all taken from inside her room as she slept. One of them—the first one ever taken—was a selfie, and Riley thought she was going to be sick when she saw Murdoc's face smiling at the camera. He was in her apartment. _With_ her. And she never even knew.

A strangled whimper escaped her throat, and she dropped her phone, jolting off the bed and looking around frantically, as if he might still be in there. Tears forged paths down her face as she started hyperventilating, barely hearing Billy as he called her name, trying to get her to tell him what was going on. In a split second of clarity, she snatched up her phone again and sent a "911" text to the group chat before immediately calling Jack. The older man picked up on the third ring.

"Riles, what's going on?" he demanded, his concern almost palpable through the phone. "What happened? What was that text about?"

"Jack, he was here," Riley sobbed, her voice shaking as she looked around wildly. Her body was wound like a spring, and she wanted nothing more than to run, get out of her apartment, fast, but she had the sickening feeling that running would only put her in more danger. "He was in my apartment, and I...Oh God, Jack, I don't know what to do—I don't...what do I do?"

"Hold on, now, Riles, take a breath," the former Delta ordered, his voice gentle. "Mac and I are on our way to you; what are you talking about? Who was there?"

"Murdoc," Riley could barely force the name past her lips, as if saying it out loud might summon him. "He was here; he was...he was right here!"

"What?" Jack's voice tensed audibly. "When? Just now?"

"No, Jack, he...he's been getting in this whole time," the analyst barely got the words out, gasping for air as though she were suffocating. "There are pictures and I...I don't...I need to get out of here—"

"No, Riley, stay where you are," Mac's voice was shaking almost as badly as hers. "We're on our way; we'll be there in five. I already told Matty everything; she's sending tac over. Just stay there, Riley, and stay on the line; we'll be there soon."

Riley didn't answer. She couldn't; she was crying too hard, nearly paralyzed with fear. The analyst slowly sank down to the floor, unsure of what to do—of what she _could_ do. She was supposed to be safe there. She and Mac had made sure of it; where did they go wrong? What did they miss? How could he have gotten in? She couldn't protect herself. Even with all their planning, all the lengths they'd gone to, he'd gotten in. He could have hurt her. He could have taken her. He could have killed her. And she never would have seen him coming.

She was supposed to be safe.

* * *

Mac stood off to the side in Riley's living room as Phoenix combed through it. Simmons and his team had been recalled from their AMOS training (they'd thankfully only been in the classroom by that time and had not yet been dropped off in the middle of the woods), and he was talking to Matty across the room. The rest of his tac team, in full body armor, stood around the apartment, eyes alert.. Bozer, who was in the shower when Riley sent out her 911, was on his way. Jack and Riley were in the corner to his left, Jack just holding her as she cried into his shoulder, trying to keep it together for her sake. Matty wasn't letting her leave the apartment yet—although it was obvious that she wasn't about to let her stay there for the night—and she wouldn't until she nailed down a safehouse for her.

The blond agent was avoiding all eyes—especially Jack's and Riley's, if they were even looking his way—as guilt gnawed at him. This was his fault. He'd promised Riley—promised them all—that he would keep them safe, and he'd failed. He'd done everything he could think of, and Murdoc still got through. Mac was just as powerless as he'd feared. No matter what he did, no matter what precautions he took, it didn't seem to matter. Murdoc could get to him and his friends whenever, wherever he wanted.

Mac flicked through the pictures Riley had found, feeling his stomach churn and bile rise up in his throat. There were eleven photos in total. The first one—the selfie—was taken the very night they'd set up her security system. In that one, he was crouched next to her bed and holding a finger to his lips. In another, his hand was visible, holding a marker like he was going to draw on her face. In the next, it looked like he was in the process of brushing a strand of hair from her face. A small stuffed bunny with floppy ears—which Riley had never seen before, and which was no longer present in the apartment—was in the next one. In each one, it was something different. Murdoc's words from that night echoed in Mac's mind, and he had to put a hand over his mouth to keep himself from being sick.

" _I wonder if she knows how young she looks when she's asleep, all twisted up in the sheets..."_

"Riley," Mac looked up at last and saw Bozer walk into the room, making a beeline for their distressed friend. Riley looked up from Jack's shoulder and quickly accepted the hug Bozer readily offered. Jack kept a hand on her shoulder for a second before his eyes flicked up to Mac. For the first time in as long as they'd known each other, his gaze made Mac's stomach drop. The former Delta murmured something to Riley, and she nodded before he started making his way over to his partner.

"Jack, please, don't say it," Mac looked at him with wounded eyes, his voice quiet and pleading.

"Say what?" the older man asked, his jaw tight and expression never changing.

"What your face says you're thinking right now," Mac grumbled, shifting his feet. "I secured her room myself. I told her there was no way he could get in there without her knowing it. I failed her. God, he practically _told_ me he would do this and I still didn't..."

"Mac, I need you to listen to me right now," Jack settled his hand on his partner's shoulder and kept his voice low as he forced him to keep eye contact. "Murdoc is playing games with your head right now as much as he is Riley's. For all our sakes, brother—and I say this with the utmost love—get your head out of your ass, cancel your pity party, and get your head in the game. There will be time for blame later. Got it?"

Mac swallowed hard, trying hard not to think about the fact that Jack hadn't denied his guilt-ridden claims, and gave a small nod.

"Got it."

"Good," Jack approved. Before he could say anything else, Matty called them all over.

"Okay, first things first, Riley, you're obviously not staying here tonight," the director began with a sigh. "In fact, none of you are staying in your homes tonight. You're all staying at the Phoenix, behind lock and key."

"Fine by me," Riley's voice trembled as she spoke, and Jack put his arm around her shoulders comfortingly.

"Second, I'm getting all of you new phones just in case Riley's wasn't the only one compromised," Matty continued. She waited until the team nodded before she pressed on, "And third—and this comes from Oversight, not me—Riley is not the only one who will be staying in a safehouse for the foreseeable future; all four of you will be relocated until such a time as we catch this son of a bitch."

"Matty—" Mac began, ready to protest.

"No arguments, Mac," Matty cut him off quickly. "Murdoc knows where all of you live, and obviously we didn't do enough to lock your places down." Here, Mac shifted his feet uncomfortably, trying to stifle the wave of guilt that washed over him. "Oversight thinks there's too much of a risk to you—and the Phoenix—if you stay out in the open."

The blond agent still wanted to argue. He'd given Murdoc his health, his sleep, his time, his very sanity; he didn't want to give up his home, too. But now was not the time; he could fight later. For now, all that mattered was making Riley feel safe again. So, he gave a short nod.

"Good," Matty approved. "Simmons and his team will escort you all back to the Phoenix. And Simmons," she raised her voice to be heard, getting the tac team leader's attention, "anything gets within shouting distance of these four, you're cleared to shoot it."

"Yes, ma'am," Simmons dipped his head. As they started to leave, Matty's voice again stopped them.

"Kyser, you're with me," she called, hardly looking up from her phone. The medic gave the four agents a reassuring smile, then went back over to the director. Before any of them could ask what was going on, Simmons and his remaining team escorted them out of Riley's apartment and down to the street below.

* * *

"So where exactly are we going, Matty?" Kyser asked from behind the wheel as he drove through the darkness. Matty was in the passenger seat, and at his boss's prompting, he'd driven her out of the city and onto a quiet road that, in about fifteen miles, would lead into thick trees. Maybe it was the events that transpired earlier that night, maybe it was the fact that isolated forest roads were a tactical nightmare, but the medic couldn't help but feel every single molecule within him screaming that the whole thing was a terrible idea.

"I got a text from Jill," Matty explained. "She's been in contact with someone who may have some info on where to find Murdoc. Says he'll only talk in person. He has a cabin out here."

"Ah-hahh..." Kyser nodded slowly. "Aaand...you're aware that, objectively, this sounds like the trappiest trap to ever trap, correct?"

"Believe me, I'm aware of how it sounds, Kyser," Matty chuckled slightly, although her eyes were serious. "But I had Jill run a background check on this guy. He checks out; he was part of Murdoc's collective, probably trying to help us get Murdoc before Murdoc can get him. We also checked satellite coverage; there is only one person inside that cabin, and at this point, I am in no position to turn down a lead. And, hey, there's a reason I brought you. I would have brought the whole team, but, I was only allowed one agent with me, per our agreement, and, well...if it's not a trap, I can't afford to scare this guy off, can I?"

"I suppose not," Kyser allowed, his stomach churning. They drove in silence for a few more minutes, the medic purposefully going just under the speed limit—about fifty-seven miles per hour—his eyes alert to anything out of the ordinary.

He caught movement a mere few feet in front of him, darting out from one of the bushes lining the road. He didn't have time to stop, though he did slam on his brakes. It didn't do them much good; he hit whatever it was almost full speed, and he heard and felt his tires pop. Kyser tried to keep the car under control and on the road, but they'd been approaching a curve, as as he tried to turn around the bend, the car tipped over, rolling onto its roof.

Dazed, disoriented, and bleeding from the crash and the airbags, Kyser groaned, reaching his hands up to brace himself on the roof of the car.

"Matty," he groaned, looking over at his boss. She appeared to be unconscious, dangling from her seatbelt, and he quickly reached over and gently untangled her, placing her on the roof that was once above her seat so the blood would stop rushing to her head, keeping her neck as stable as he could from his angle. Once she was as safe as he could get her at the moment, he reached up to undo his seatbelt, but it was jammed, so he took his small, two-inch knife that he held between his first and middle fingers from his arm sheath and cut himself loose, inhaling sharply as he dropped to the roof and onto the broken glass that had once been his window. The medic moved to crawl outside, but as the ringing in his ears started to subside, he heard footsteps coming closer.

"Shit," Kyser breathed, pulling his sidearm free of its holster before dragging himself out from the wreckage, immediately turning to aim his weapon in the direction of the footsteps he'd heard earlier, still on his stomach. He was too late; Murdoc kicked the weapon from his hand and kicked him over onto his back. Kyser gave a groan of pain, gritting his teeth, before he looked up at his assailant.

"Hmm," Murdoc frowned at him, and Kyser noticed the gun in his hand. Kyser kept his left hand pinned to the grass in a tight fist. "You're not who I was hoping for...But I could have fun with you, nevertheless."

"Fuck you," Kyser growled furiously, wincing at the effort even those two words took to say.

"Ooh, touchy, touchy," Murdoc tsked at him, giving an amused chuckle. "I know you're in pain, Agent Kyser, but there's no need to be nasty. I'll be with you in a moment; first, I need to attend to your boss."

The psychopath started to move, and Kyser knew this was his only shot; if he didn't do something now, he was going to lose Matty. Without thinking about it, his right hand darted out and grabbed the tall man's right ankle, while his left arm came up—knife still in hand—and plunged the blade into Murdoc's outer thigh. The assassin gave a cry of pain, stumbling back, and Kyser released him, instead turning and trying to crawl for his gun, hardly feeling his broken bones. To the medic's dismay, Murdoc recovered relatively quickly, coming back at him and kicking him in the side of the head, raising his gun and shooting a round through Kyser's outstretched hand. Now it was the medic's turn to scream, pulling his hand back from his weapon instinctively, tears involuntarily blurring his vision.

"You've got some fight in you, Mark; I'll give you that," Murdoc snarled through clenched teeth, limping towards him and kicking him over onto his back again. He aimed his weapon between the medic's eyes, "I should kill you for it."

"If you were going to, you wouldn't be talking about it," Kyser spat, cradling his right hand to his chest. Murdoc laughed, amusement mixing with the anger on his face, and he kicked the medic in the jaw out of spite, making Kyser cry out.

"Killing you would be far too easy, my friend," the contract killer hissed. "Why would I spare you from having to look dear old Jack in the eye after losing his beloved director? No, no, no, for this project, killing you is no fun."

Kyser felt his stomach drop, and his eyes darted over to the car. He had to get up. He had to get to Matty. Murdoc was hurt; if he could just get up, he might be able to outrun him...

The medic's hopes were quickly abandoned when Murdoc stepped on his wounded hand, slowly adding pressure until Kyser was screaming. The tall man chuckled, then bent down—with some difficulty, a fact that Kyser was still proud of—and started taking his vest off, stepping off of his chest and hand before yanking the vest away and tossing it aside. Before the medic could even hope to process what was happening, Murdoc took aim at the low center of his abdomen, and fired a round, point blank, into his body. Again, the man screamed, his good hand flying to cover the injury.

"Be grateful you're not Jack," Murdoc told him over his cries. "If you were, this could have gone a lot worse."

Without another word, he turned his attention to Matty, and Kyser was helpless to stop him as he dragged her from the wreckage. The psychopath wordlessly tossed the medic's phone, which had been thrown around inside the car as they crashed, to him, then stood up and walked off, carrying Matty with him.

Kyser tried to get up, to do something, but his body wasn't listening, too focused on his wounds. With a growl of frustration, he fumbled for his phone, unlocked it, and started calling Simmons.

Back at the Phoenix, just as the team arrived for their impromptu sleepover, Mac received a text on his phone that made his blood run cold.

 _I hope you studied._

* * *

 **Welp. That was long as fuck. But hey, we got more action out of it! Haha I hope you all enjoyed, and if you made it to the end, I applaud and thank you. Let me know what you think, and I'll see you all next time for the exam!**


	4. Exam

**Before you begin, folks, grab yourselves a snack and some water and get comfy; these damned things just keep getting longer. As always, special thanks to Haven126 for her invaluable help. Please make sure to read the author's note at the end, and as always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy the final chapter.**

* * *

Matty came to like crawling out of a dark tunnel, her senses returning to her one at a time. Her skull was throbbing to her heartbeat, but she pushed past it, trying to figure out where she was. She was moving. In a car, she realized. At first, she assumed she was still with Kyser, but then she remembered the crash. The director forced herself to open her eyes, and sure enough, she was not in the same car. She was once again in the passenger seat with her seatbelt on, but Kyser was not driving. Matty blinked a few times to clear her vision, and then her breath froze in her lungs.

Murdoc.

The psychopath must have felt her eyes on him, because he glanced her way and smiled.

"Good morning, Matilda," he greeted her cheerfully. "You're up a bit early."

Matty didn't answer, her head swimming as she looked around. She tried to reach for the door, only to find that her hands were cuffed in front of her.

"Oh, don't be like that," Murdoc chuckled. "Settle in."

"Kyser," Matty demanded, her voice slurred.

"Who?" Murdoc asked innocently.

" _Kyser_ ," the woman repeated, shooting him a pointed glare. God, her whole body hurt...

"Oh, your chauffeur?" the assassin sneered at her as he pulled over on the side of the road and put the car in park. "He's alive; don't worry. Or, at least he was, when I left. Whether he remains that way depends on how fast your people can get to him. Although, considering where you crashed...I wouldn't hold my breath."

As he spoke, he pulled a syringe full of clear liquid from the middle console and plucked off the cap. Matty tensed, shifting away from him, but she had nowhere to go.

"Now," Murdoc turned his eyes to her, "not that I don't enjoy our chats, but I have some work to do, and I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

Before Matty could do anything to defend herself, Murdoc plunged the needle into the base of her neck, and in seconds, she was sucked back into the cold, waiting darkness.

* * *

Kyser was gasping desperately on the ground beside the car, bits of glass still embedded in his skin as his body trembled violently, lying flat on his back in the grass. Murdoc had left not long ago with Matty; the medic had gotten a glimpse of the car as it passed him. His first call to Simmons had gone unanswered, but he'd tried again, putting the call on speaker as he tried to slow his bleeding, staring up at the inky black sky above him. The wound wasn't too bad, he was pretty sure—he supposed that there certainly could have been _more_ blood—but he frankly wasn't all that concerned about it, regardless. He had lost Matty. Oh, God, he'd lost Matty...He had to get her back, which meant that he needed to get in contact with Simmons _now_.

Just as the medic was about to hang up and try again, his team leader finally answered.

"Mark, hey, sorry I missed you," Simmons apologized. "I was trying to stop Mac from having a panic attack. You and Matty headed back?"

"Simmons, listen to me," Kyser had to force the words out, his body panicking, and the medic tried to get as many pertinent details out as he could. "He's travelling south...back towards the city. Sedan. Dark color. Late model. I didn't see the plate. He...God, he has Matty; I'm so sorry. I should have seen him...I should have—"

"Kyser, who has Matty?" Simmons demanded, his voice steady, giving nothing away. Kyser could practically _hear_ his poker face; he must have still been within eyeshot of Riley and the others.

"Murdoc," Kyser growled in frustration. "You've gotta find her, Grant, I..."

The medic trailed off. Something was wrong. His vision was swimming with even the smallest movements. With his still-intact, trembling left hand, he reached up and felt his pulse. It was thready, rapid, and not nearly as strong as he would have liked it. His skin was cold and clammy, even in the warm night air.

"Shock..." the medic blinked in confusion, hardly remembering that his boss was still on the line, barely even hearing him calling his name. "Shock; why...why am I going into shock...?"

Kyser slowly, carefully forced himself to lift his head, looking down at his wounded abdomen. When he did, his heart sank.

"Ah, shit..." he muttered to himself, collapsing flat again. "That's a lot more blood than I thought it was gonna be..."

"Kyser!" Simmons' insistent voice finally got the medic's attention. "Hang on, man; I'm sending a medevac to you. Three minutes."

"No, no, no," Kyser shook his head, trying to stay calm and conscious, his left hand applying as much pressure to the gushing injury as it possibly could. "No, don't...don't send them after me; just...just find Matty..."

"We will," Simmons promised. "But we're coming for you, too, Mark; just stay with me."

"I should have seen him," Kyser breathed, feeling his eyes grow heavy. "Fuck...I should have shot him while I had the chance..."

"Listen to me, Mark," Simmons growled, obviously trying to control the volume of his words. "We can talk about who should have done what when later. Right now, while we look for Matty, the most important thing is that you keep breathing, okay? You stay awake and stay with me, understand?"

Kyser didn't answer him, hearing a helicopter headed his way, and the medic gave a small smile. "I hear it...I hear the chopper...God, Grant, I'm sorry..."

"Mark, stay with me," Simmons ordered. Kyser shook his head as his eyes fell closed.

"God, I'm so sorry..."

Kyser couldn't make himself speak anymore, feeling his grip on consciousness slipping fast, and Simmons' calls went unanswered. He tried to keep his mind awake and engaged, but it was no use; every time he'd think of something, his train of thought would soon derail. By the time the helicopter touched down near him, he was unconscious.

* * *

Jack was watching Simmons like a hawk from inside the war room. They'd been in there for nearly four hours, apparently waiting on their sleeping arrangements to be taken care of. Simmons' team was standing outside, putting a little too much effort into seeming casual. Jack had seen the team leader take a call shortly after they arrived. Simmons had kept his poker face the whole time, but still, Jack knew something was wrong. He could feel it. And the fact that no one was looping him in was pissing him off more and more with each passing second.

Finally, the former Delta couldn't take it anymore. Not wanting to worry or upset Riley any more than she already was, he cleared his throat and looked over at Mac, who was leaning against the back wall, his eyes a million miles away.

"Mac," he got the younger agent's attention. "Let's go see what's taking these cots so long."

Mac hesitated, then gave a nod, and the two of them quietly left the room. The second the door closed behind them, Jack turned on Simmons expectantly.

"Simmons, what the hell is going on?" he demanded, folding his arms over his chest. "And for your own sake, don't even bother with that 'nothing's wrong' song and dance. I am not in the mood for it right now."

Simmons hesitated, looking back and forth between them, then let out a weary sigh.

"Unless you think she can handle it, we're keeping Riley out of the loop for now, okay?" the tac team leader looked them both in the eye. He waited until they nodded in agreement before he continued. "Riley wasn't Murdoc's next target."

"What are you talking about?" Jack heard the tremble in Mac's voice, and when he glanced at him, he looked just as terrified as he'd thought he would.

Simmons hesitated, and Jack felt his stomach drop.

"Where's Matty, Simmons?" he asked quietly. Simmons' jaw tightened, and he shifted his feet.

"I don't know all the details," he admitted with a sigh. "But, from what Kyser managed to tell me and from what was found at the scene...Murdoc ambushed them. Their car was flipped, and...Matty's gone."

"He has Matty?" Mac was in clear disbelief.

"And Kyser just _let_ him walk away with her?!" Jack demanded incredulously.

"Murdoc shot him, Jack," Simmons explained, turning to his long-time friend. "Twice, so I'm told. One in the hand and one in the gut. He called me, told me everything he knew, but by the time medics got to him, he was out cold."

"Is he going to be okay?" Mac asked, the words tentative.

Simmons shot him a sympathetic look. "I don't know," he said finally. "He should be getting out of surgery right about now. We'll know more when he wakes up."

"Well, then, let's go see what he has to say for himself," Jack waved an arm emphatically.

"Jack, he's probably not going to be awake yet," Simmons argued.

"I don't care!" Jack snapped, taking a threatening step towards him and causing Mac to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. Jack shrugged him off angrily. "That _psychopath_ is coming after people I care about, Simmons! He was in Riley's apartment—in her _room_ —and now you're telling me he's got his grimy little hands on Matty? And he left Kyser _alive_ to tell the tale? He knows somethin' useful, Grant, and I'm going to find out what. Now, are you going to come with me to the hospital, or am I going to have to bust out of here on my own?"

Simmons swallowed hard, then rolled his shoulders and looked over at Ramirez.

"Ricardo, go see if Boze and Riley need anything," he ordered quietly. "I'm taking Mac and Jack to the hospital to see Kyser."

Ramirez nodded solemnly, moving into the war room with his poker face on. Simmons motioned to two of the remaining members of his tac team—Michael Reeves and Aaron Dixon—and the five of them made their way down to the parking garage.

"Jack, I'm so sorry," Mac said quietly as they walked. "I never even considered that he'd go after her first; I should have known..."

"What did I say about cancelling your damn pity party?" Jack growled at him. The former Delta didn't miss how Mac practically flinched away from him and dropped his eyes, falling silent, and he stifled a sigh. He'd talk it out with the kid later; right now, they had more important things to worry about.

* * *

As the Phoenix crew approached Kyser's room, they could hear a commotion coming from within.

"Well, he's awake, alright," Jack muttered, and Mac glanced at him, a myriad of emotions on his face.

"He's been off sedation and pain meds since he got out of surgery," the nurse escorting them explained. "The docs needed him completely coherent, since they had a few tests to run."

"Bet they regret that, now," Simmons scoffed. The team leader opened the door to Kyser's room quietly, and caught the tail end of the argument the medic was having.

"—hell with your tests; I need to talk to my team right now!" he snapped at a rather irritated-looking doctor.

"If you talk to your team, will you let me do my tests?" the doctor—Mac saw that his scrubs identified him as Doctor Chang—asked, barely maintaining his calm tone.

"Yes!" Kyser threw up his hands in exasperation. The blond agent felt his stomach lurch when he saw that his right hand was wrapped in thick rounds of gauze and braced. Studying the operative more closely, Mac took note of the small cuts and nasty bruises on Kyser's face—one particularly bad one resting on the right side of his jaw. His left hand, while not wrapped quite so extensively as his right, did have gauze encircling his palm and part of his wrist. There were little cuts all over his arms—from glass, he realized—and a blood bag was hanging on his IV stand, feeding into his left arm.

"Well, good," Jack spoke up, his voice sharp, before doctor or patient could say anything else. Kyser jumped in surprise, wincing in pain at the sudden movement, before turning to look at them. "Because we're here."

"Thank God," Kyser let out a breath of relief. The medic was nearly manic, talking rapidly and gesturing emphatically.

"Kyser, what the fuck happened?" Jack demanded with a growl as Doctor Chang flipped up the bottom of Kyser's blankets, exposing his bare feet to the room. The corners of Mac's eyes twitched in confusion as he watched, his heart starting to sink when he realized what tests Doctor Chang wanted to run. "How could you let that psycho walk away with Matty? You were supposed to protect her, man!"

"Jack, believe me, I know you're angry," Kyser looked over at his friend of nearly ten years with a wounded expression. "And trust me, I will _lead_ the 'I hate Mark Kyser' parade when this is over, but until then, we need to talk."

At the bottom of Kyser's bed, Doctor Chang took his pen and lightly dragged it over the soles of the medic's feet, first one, and then the other.

"You feel that?" Chang asked, cutting his patient off just as he was about to say more and glancing up at him. Kyser looked at him in annoyance and confusion.

"What? No," he denied dismissively, and it seemed as though all five visitors' stomachs dropped, Jack's anger seeming to fade considerably. Kyser didn't seem to make the connection between the doctor's question and anything being wrong; he just turned back to his guests and kept talking.

"I said I didn't see the plate, but I was wrong," the medic pressed, seeming oblivious to the obvious shift in the room. Down by the end of his bed, Chang repeated his test, pressing a bit harder with the pen.

"What about that?" he questioned gravely. Kyser growled in frustration.

"For God's sake, no! You're not even touching me!" he snapped, once again turning back to them. He opened his mouth to say something, but Jack surprised them all by cutting him off.

"Mark." Kyser froze. Not only had Jack called him by his first name—something Mac knew he'd only done a handful of times since they'd met—but all of the anger seemed to have faded from his voice. Jack gave his friend a sympathetic look. "I think you need to pay attention to the doc for a second."

Kyser blinked at him, then slowly turned to meet Doctor Chang's eyes. The doctor held his gaze, then placed the middle of the pen on the nail bed of Kyser's left big toe and applied pressure.

"Can you feel that?" he asked quietly. Kyser swallowed hard.

"Barely," he admitted. "Barely anything at all. Doesn't even register as pain."

Mac's eyes fell shut for a moment, feeling his stomach churn. Doctor Chang nodded, then released the pressure and did the same on the other foot. Kyser's response was the same; despite knowing that even slight pressure on the nail bed should hurt like a bitch, he barely felt a thing.

"Okay," the doctor's voice was gentle, knowing that the realization was setting in. "Can you curl your toes?"

In response, Kyser's toes twitched downwards, holding their position for just a fleeting moment before going slack again.

"Okay," Doctor Chang nodded, putting his pen away. "Well, Mr. Kyser, I think you're looking at an incomplete spinal injury."

"You're telling me he's paralyzed?" Simmons gawked at him.

"Well, partially, yes," Chang confirmed. "He was able to move his toes—if only a little bit—so the paralysis isn't total, and he does have some sensation in his feet. These are good signs, but...there's no guarantee that this won't be permanent."

Mac felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Kyser's career was likely ruined and his life forever changed...and all because he went up against Murdoc on _his_ behalf. He was at least part of the reason this happened. His colleagues were being targeted because of Murdoc's obsession with _him_. One way or another, if he'd done more, he could have prevented this, could have spared Kyser's ability to walk, could have kept that psycho from getting his hands on Matty. He knew he could have. But he didn't. And now his friends were suffering the consequences.

While Mac's mind spun into guilt-ridden turmoil, Kyser settled back in his bed, staring off for a moment as the news settled in. After a few seconds, his jaw tightened, his eyes fell closed, and he shook his head.

"It doesn't matter," he stated finally, his tone resolute and leaving no room for debate, shocking everyone.

"Kyser..." Simmons began, but the medic's eyes flew open, and he shot his team leader a glare.

"I. Will walk." Kyser spat the words through clenched teeth, his light brown eyes burning with anger and determination. "And if I can't, well, there's really no point in worrying about it, now, is there? There's nothing anyone can do to fix this right now. So let's do something productive and focus on Matty."

His team stared at him, conflicted and pitying, but they nodded.

"Okay," Jack agreed, glancing at Doctor Chang, who took his cue to leave. "Tell us everything. Start from the beginning; what happened?"

"First of all, I caught a partial plate," Kyser sighed, clearly glad to finally be able to talk without getting interrupted. "Juliet, Quebec, seven, three. That's all I got as he was driving off."

"Hey, it's something," Simmons gave a smile, quickly texting the new information to Jill.

"From the top, Kyser," Jack repeated, his voice becoming stern, but when Mac glanced at him, he quickly realized that the order only sounded harsh to make their wounded friend feel a bit more normal.

"Matty had a source who said he knew where we could find Murdoc," the medic explained. "She had Jill vet it as much as she could on short notice. He was part of Murdoc's Collective, said he'd only talk in person, that she could only bring one agent with her...We were headed out to meet him..."

Kyser shook his head, reaching up with his left hand to rub his brow, pinching his eyes shut for a moment. "God, I _knew_ it was a trap. I _knew_ it. I even told her so, but she said she wasn't in any position to turn down a lead, so we kept going...I should have turned around. I should have listened to my gut; if I had, she would still be here. She would—"

"Hey, Kyser," Simmons interrupted him as his tale quickly devolved into a guilty rant. "You were acting on explicit orders from the director. No one can blame you for that. Got it?"

The medic paused, clearly struggling to get the 'if only's out of his head. Eventually, he nodded, then took a deep breath and continued.

"About ten miles before we would have hit the forest, something shot out of the bushes on the side of the road just...a few feet in front of us," he told them, his voice surprisingly steady. "I think it was a spike strip. I braked, but couldn't avoid it...the tires popped, we rolled...Matty was unconscious. I cut myself out of my seatbelt, heard footsteps coming up on my side of the car, pulled my gun, crawled out...I tried to aim, but...he was already there. He kicked my gun away, and he..."

Kyser looked up at Jack, his expression troubled. "He said that I wasn't the one he was hoping for."

"He was hoping for me?" Jack raised an eyebrow. The very idea made Mac's blood run cold; Murdoc couldn't be gunning for Jack already, could he? The blond agent had been more or less banking on the idea that Murdoc would save his partner for last. He'd already been wrong about who would be targeted first; what if he was wrong about all of it?

"I'm assuming so," Kyser shrugged. "Before he left, he told me to be grateful I wasn't you, and that if I was, it could have been a lot worse."

"Great," Jack sighed, shaking his head. "We'll deal with that later. Now, I know you didn't just lie there while he went and took Matty, so what happened?"

"He started towards the car to grab her," Kyser swallowed hard. "I still had my knife in my hand, so I stabbed him in the leg."

"Jesus," Simmons muttered, looking impressed, and Mac's eyes widened in shock.

"Atta boy, Kyser," Jack grinned.

"It was just the dinky little two-inch I keep strapped to my arm when I gear up," the medic shook his head. "Wide blade, but not long. I didn't have an angle on an artery or major tendon, so it was just an outer thigh hit. It didn't stop him."

"No, but it'll slow him down," Jack pointed out. "Take the win, Kyser; it's more than any of us have managed to do."

"I guess," Kyser allowed. "Anyway, after I stabbed him, I tried to get to my gun, but he shot my hand before I could reach it. Then he kicked me in the jaw, shot me in the gut, tossed me my phone, grabbed Matty, and left."

"He _gave_ you your phone?" Simmons blinked at him in confusion.

"Yeah," Kyser confirmed. "He wanted me found."

"Of course he did," Mac spoke up for the first time, his voice flat. "How else would he be sure I knew what happened?"

"Alright, there has to be something else," Jack was quick to change the subject, and Mac could tell that his irritation was growing. "He had to have given you some kind of clue; that's his game. Think, man; he had to have said or done something else."

"There was no clue, Jack," Kyser shook his head helplessly.

"There has to be!" Jack snapped, that anger and frustration he'd buried coming back full force for all to see. "You said yourself, you weren't the one he was after, and if that were true and he didn't have another use for you, you would be _dead_! He kept you alive for a _reason_ ; now, think!"

"Jack," Mac hissed the warning, but it was too late. At that moment, Kyser's carefully crafted, relatively calm, optimistic facade cracked and broke away. The medic lashed out, knocking everything off the nightstand to his right and only barely grimacing at the pain.

"This _is_ his reason!" Kyser snapped, tears now gathering in his eyes. "Leaving me to have to face you knowing _I_ let him get away with Matty— _that's_ his reason! Taking away my ability to walk, leaving me just as _utterly_ useless as I was when he shot me, for the rest of my life— _that_ is his reason! Taking away my ability to shoot a gun, so I can't defend myself or anyone else— _that_ is his reason!"

Some tears leaked from his eyes, and his voice started to tremble, but it was as if he didn't notice; he forged ahead as his team and Mac stared at him, speechless. "Killing me would have been letting me off easy! He knew _exactly_ what he was doing and what he was taking from me when he shot me! He has _ruined_ my life! _That's_ his game! I've given you everything I know; I'm not a clue, Jack! I'm a warning! A cautionary tale!"

Kyser let out a bitter laugh, wiping at his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less angry—though that anger was very obviously not directed at them. "I'm a scary story you tell young recruits, and that's all I'll ever be. _That's_ why he left me alive, Jack. So that I would suffer for the rest of my life, knowing that he beat me, that I let him get away with Matty, that everything that happens to her after this is on me, and so that I could scare the hell out of the rest of you. That's all. I don't have an answer for you, Jack. I wish to _God_ , more than _anything_ , that I did, but I don't. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

Mac felt his heart ache with sympathy, and when he looked at Jack, he saw the older man's anger melt away. The former Delta walked towards his friend of ten years—stepping over the broken lamp and disconnected phone that lay between them—and held out his left hand, almost as if he were going to help Kyser up. The medic hesitated, trying to get control of himself, then let out a breath and grabbed his hand, forcing himself to meet Jack's eyes.

"You got nothing to be sorry for," Jack told him, his voice sincere, and everyone in the room saw how surprised and truly grateful Kyser appeared to hear those words. "You just focus on you right now, okay, man? We will find Matty, and we will get this son of a bitch for what he's done; I promise you that. You just keep moving forward; that's all you can do."

"It actually doesn't look like I'll be doing a lot of that for the time being," Kyser pointed out, but Mac didn't miss the small, teasing smirk on his face. It appeared that Jack didn't, either, because he scoffed and punched the medic lightly in the shoulder.

"You know damn well what I mean," he grumbled with a small laugh. "Quit tryin' to guilt trip, you little shit."

"You start playing the pity card and me and you are gonna have problems," Simmons spoke up, and when Mac looked at him, all the worry and pity he'd observed in the team leader had vanished. A conscious decision on his part, Mac was certain. "I expect you back at the Phoenix when this is over."

"Yes, sir," Kyser gave a tearful laugh, wiping at his eyes again and sniffling.

"Alright," Jack let out a sigh and straightened. "We've gotta go find Matty. You get some rest, man; we'll see you soon."

"I'll send Locke and Ramirez by to keep an eye on you," Simmons added. "If you remember anything else, you let us know."

"You will be the first," Kyser assured him. "Er...the second, technically..."

The tac team chuckled, and Simmons met the medic's eyes. "Get some rest."

"I will," he promised. Mac watched as Jack turned away from Kyser's bedside, and the smile the older agent had been wearing vanished instantly, anger and frustration once again flaring in his eyes. Mac's jaw tightened at the sight, but as he and the others turned to leave, Kyser called him back.

"Mac," the medic got his attention quickly. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Yeah," Mac agreed, then glanced at the others. "I'll catch up, guys."

The other four members of their little convoy dutifully left the room—Jack with some obvious reluctance—and Mac made his way over to his bedside, chewing his lip guiltily.

When the door closed and they were alone, Mac let out a weary sigh, "Kyser, man, I...I am _so_ sorry..."

"Mac, dude, I love you, but shut up," the medic's voice was firm, but not unkind. "You're not the one who shot me; don't apologize."

Mac blinked at him in surprise, then slowly nodded in agreement. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kyser cut him off.

"No, just...listen for a minute, okay?" the older man sighed, slightly frustrated—and not, Mac realized, with him. "Murdoc did this to me just to freak the both of us out. He lined up his shot perfectly; he knew it was going to be a spine hit. And he did it just so that you would have this look on your face that you have right now. He did it to distract you. And you looking at me like you just ran over my dog is giving him what he wants; stop it."

"Kyser he did this to you because of me," Mac argued, knowing he was right but unable to shake the guilt. "It's my fault."

"You didn't pull the trigger," Kyser growled right back at him. "It's not on you. Murdoc's obsession is not your fault. Listen to me: I am going to be fine. I'm going to walk again out of sheer spite, if nothing else. And if I somehow don't, well, then I will settle for kicking all your asses in wheelchair races."

Mac laughed at that slightly, loving how matter-of-fact the medic's tone was, and Kyser cracked a smile in return.

"Listen, Mac, you've beaten this guy before," he reminded him, his exhaustion seeping into his tone. "You can beat him again. Just get the hell out of your head for five minutes, okay? Don't just hand him the win. Look, I...I lost Matty. That's on me. I may never be able to make that up to anyone. But you can get her back. There's a way; this wouldn't be fun for him if it was rigged for you to lose. There has to be a way. You can find it. I know you can; we _all_ know you can. So stop thinking about Murdoc's game and just do your thing, man."

It was a lot easier said than done, and they both knew it. But, oddly enough, it did make him feel a bit better; when Bozer said it, while it was comforting, it felt a little like it was just his best friend trying to make him feel better. When Kyser said it, on the other hand, it felt a bit more like a statement of fact; although the two of them were friends, they weren't all that close, so it at least felt as though Kyser had less of an obligation to make him feel better. Mac gave him an appreciative smile.

"Thanks, Kyser," he said sincerely.

"Don't mention it," the medic's smile was just a bit forced as he shifted position slightly in his bed. "Normally, I'd rely on Jack to give you that pep talk, but I don't think I have to tell you that he's not himself right now. Don't take anything he says to heart for the time being; he's angry and he's frustrated and he doesn't have anyone to take it out on right now. He's going to say a lot he doesn't mean."

"I know," Mac nodded. He could tell just by the look on Jack's face that he was looking for a reason to go off, and he knew that the odds were high that he'd be the one he went off on.

"Keep your head up, kid," Kyser sighed, glancing out into the hallway through the window. Mac could see that his eyes were glimmering, and he knew that the medic was just keeping it together for appearance's sake. "One of us has to, and honestly, you're a lot better at it than I am."

The blond agent gave him a half-smile. "I'll do my best," he promised. "Now get some rest; we'll let you know what happens."

Kyser just nodded at him, and Mac turned and started to leave, but again, the medic stopped him.

"Hey Mac," Mac stopped and looked back at him, and Kyser swallowed hard. "Get that bastard for me."

Mac gave a solemn nod, then finally left the room, rejoining his partner and tac out in the hallway. They were talking to Doctor Chang.

"We will be performing another surgery to fully repair his hand in the next day or so," the doctor was saying. "The bullet completely severed one of his flexor tendons, so we'll have to graft it back. Won't be a problem, though; he has the palmaris longus muscle—an extra, vestigial tendon in his wrist. With time and a lot of physical therapy, it should make a full recovery."

"But you can't say the same about his legs," Simmons pressed, concern in his expression.

"It is entirely possible that he could regain full use of his legs," Chang allowed. "Unfortunately, it's far more likely that he will remain at least partially impaired for the rest of his life. The next few days and weeks will be critical; if he regains more feeling and muscle response, his odds will be a lot better."

The medic's team nodded, processing this information, and Doctor Chang let out a sigh.

"Does he have any family we should be contacting?" he asked. "Anyone who could maybe stay with him while he recovers?"

"No," Jack shook his head. "Well, I mean, yeah, he has family, but they had a falling out and haven't spoken in years. We're all the family he's got."

"Well, then, I recommend looking into some live-in help, especially in the first few months as he gets used to limited mobility," Chang told them. "Obviously not something urgent, but definitely something to think about, going forward. I've gotta get back to work, but if you have any questions, please feel free to ask."

The group thanked him and started making their way back out to their car. Jack and Simmons led the way, and Mac, Reeves, and Dixon followed close behind. For now, all that was left to do was wait until either Jill found Matty, or Murdoc reached out to start the game.

* * *

Riley was struggling to stay awake in the war room, having found out from Ramirez what happened to Matty—any hope they had of keeping it from her vanished when she saw the heated exchange between Simmons and Jack in the hall, and after hearing the news, it was all too easy for Riley to put her own concerns on hold in favor of locating her boss. She and Jill had teamed up to try and find the car Murdoc left in, which they did. They'd found it, abandoned in a grocery store parking lot about twenty miles from the crash site. It was in a camera blindspot; the only reason they found it was because they had a shot of it coming in but not going out, and they didn't have any evidence of it being anywhere else. They'd searched the area, of course, but found nothing; Murdoc must have switched cars out of sight of the cameras.

With nothing else to do until Murdoc made contact, they were left to wait. Riley watched Mac pacing back and forth along the glass wall to her right, clearly getting more agitated by the second, and Riley couldn't blame him; it had been almost six hours since they'd left her apartment, just over five since the crash, and they'd heard nothing. Jack was also very obviously tense, pacing in the back corner of the room. Glancing over at Bozer, Riley could tell that he, too, could feel the disconnect between the two partners, and it clearly made both of them uneasy. Mac and Jack being out of sync never led to anything good.

Watching Mac walk back and forth and back and forth in front of the glass nearly lulled the analyst to sleep, her exhaustion taking its toll, but when he suddenly stopped in his tracks, she perked up, the change in pattern jolting her awake. Sure enough, Mac came in soon after, his eyes on his phone screen.

"Riley, I just got an email," he reported. "It's a link; can you pull it up?"

"Yeah," Riley gave a nod, picking her laptop up and opening the email Mac had forwarded to her. It was from a throw-away account, and the subject line said 'Near, Far, Wherever You Are.' She quickly beamed the image up to the big screen, then—after checking to make sure it wouldn't unleash any malware on the Phoenix system—clicked the link as her colleagues gathered around her.

"Hello, Angus," Murdoc's smiling face greeted them after a short buffering period. The link had brought them to a video chat. "Apologies for my tardiness; you can thank Agent Kyser for that."

"Where is she, Murdoc?" Mac demanded, his voice surprisingly steady. He was about to say more, but Murdoc cut him off.

"I so wish I could be there in person," the psychopath lamented, "but, rest assured, I will be keeping a close eye on you as you complete your task."

"What have you done to her?" Mac pressed, sounding a tad frustrated. As he spoke, Riley was already hard at work, running a trace on the connection while trying to identify where Murdoc might be, based on the limited background they could see, as well as the background noise.

"Mac, I don't think this is live," Bozer spoke up. Sure enough, Murdoc continued talking as if none of them had spoken, warming to his subject.

"Now, on to the first examination! I know you must be excited, Angus, but there are certain guidelines I should make you aware of before you begin, and I don't think I have to explain to you the importance of reading all of the instructions before you begin. First off, there is an auditory component to this exam, so please, listen carefully, and be sure that you have board-approved audio equipment at your disposal." His voice had taken on an animated quality that reminded them of a flight attendant, rattling off a safety review. He was having far too much fun with this for Riley's liking, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"The list of acceptable calculators should be posted in the room—not that I think you'll need one; I've never seen you use one before—but, should you need one, be sure that it is a board-approved model. No graphing calculators will be accepted."

Riley pulled her eyes off the screen for a moment to glance at Mac, who'd given up trying to interact with the recording and now stood perfectly still, absorbing everything Murdoc was saying with an intense, singular focus.

Jack had come up behind him, but he wasn't in his usual position by Mac's shoulder; instead, he was standing a bit off to the side, and his fingers were methodically clenching and unclenching themselves into fists.

"Let's see; what else...? Oh!" The psychopath beamed at them from the screen. "This is an open book exam. I know, I know, but there's no need to thank me. I thought I'd throw you a softball for the first one, just to get you used to the format, my teaching style, et cetera. Some students don't fare quite as well in online courses, and, y'know, it's really quite appalling, but in the state of California, a non-tenured professor's raise is actually partially dependent on satisfaction surveys completed by their students." Murdoc shook his head, almost as if disappointed. "Even in institutes of higher education, we've dumbed everything down to basic Yelp reviews. It's a wonder your generation knows anything at all, really."

"...he sure does like to hear himself talk," Bozer muttered, half to himself. Jack turned to glare at him briefly, then shifted his eyes to her, and Riley quickly shook her head.

"Nothing yet. The video's bouncing through at least a dozen VPNs, but I'm getting there—"

"Step it up, Riles; he's not gonna keep babbling forever."

Riley opened her mouth to retort, but Murdoc's prattling suddenly changed course.

"—on to the more germane details: This is a timed exam. Exactly how much time...well, don't hold me to the atomic clock." Murdoc waved a hand lazily through the air. "I had prepared exactly two hours and twenty minutes—allowing the opportunity for two five-minute breaks, of course—but then Agent Kyser decided to get cute." His tone hardened slightly. "You can imagine my dismay—and, frankly, my surprise—at finding out that Jack delegated something as important as Director Webber's personal security to a mere stand-in. Although, I'm sure that neither one of them will make _that_ mistake again."

Riley didn't miss the dig—a stand in. Something it sure sounded like Kyser might never actually be able to do again. Jack didn't miss it, either; fury was radiating off of him in waves as he stalked towards the screen.

"I swear to _God_ I'm gonna rip this fucker apart."

And then Murdoc looked down and to his right, as if he could really see Jack standing there, and gave a delighted little chuckle. "Now, Jack, that's not very nice."

Everyone in the room froze in surprise, and Murdoc's grin broadened. "Of course, I can only imagine what you just said, but you are so very predictable. Old Reliable, wouldn't you say, Angus?" here, he shifted his gaze to the left, where Mac continued to stand perfectly still. Riley noticed, though, that his fingers had started to curl as well. The blond agent didn't say a word, and he didn't look over at Jack; instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the screen.

"Reliable, of course, until tonight. And I'm still scratching my head over this one, Jack. I really am. You entrusted the safety of your boss—with whom you have so much history—to a third-string hitter at best, when I literally could not have made the trap more obvious if I tried?" Murdoc tutted, seemingly unaware of the low growl that was rumbling out of Jack's chest. "I mean, if you didn't think you could handle it, why not at least send someone who'd put up a better fight, instead of just screaming like a baby?"

By this time, Jack was nearly trembling with rage, and Murdoc gave a shrug.

"Though, I will say that you certainly did shatter my expectations. Agent Kyser's, too, I think."

"I'm gonna kill you for this, you sick son of a bitch," Jack promised him, his voice hardly more than a snarl. "And I am gonna enjoy every minute of it."

Murdoc laughed quietly—at his own joke, apparently, or at whatever he imagined Jack would say to that—and then paused for a moment to school his features again.

"Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, the examination is timed, but it will be up to you to calculate exactly how much of it there is. The deadline...will be fairly self-explanatory." Murdoc leaned closer to the camera, and Riley found herself leaning away from him, his eyes seeming to bore into the room. "If you manage to solve the little scenario within the time allotted, you will receive a message containing her address and any other pertinent details related to recovering dear Matilda while she's still alive."

He paused, then, and gave his head a little shake. "Well, that's not entirely true; you'll receive the message whether you pass or fail; the difference becomes whether you pick up a person or a corpse."

"If you hurt her..." Riley wasn't sure if Mac knew he'd said the words out loud.

"The exam will begin in..." Murdoc glanced at his watch, "I'd give her another few minutes to come around. And don't give me that look, Angus," the psychopath chided. "My examinations are nothing if not fair. I need that five star review, remember? Matilda will begin the scenario with all of her capabilities and charms intact. I haven't harmed her at all—well, not any more than the crash did, but it didn't seem to do much damage at all. Your director is remarkably...durable." His eyebrows bunched, as if his own word choice had surprised him, then shrugged.

"Physically, anyway. I suppose we'll find out how mentally resilient she is in the next few hours."

The video paused for a moment, as if waiting for something, but this time, Murdoc was wrong; no one said a word. The assassin blinked at them silently for a few seconds, then continued.

"The clock starts as soon as she contacts you. I'll link you the camera feeds then. I _do_ hope you were paying attention, MacGyver, because I don't believe in grading on a curve. You'll have to earn that pass or fail all on your own. In the spirit of fairness, I will personally assure you that you have all the tools you need, so long as you're clever enough to use them. Best of luck."

Riley glanced at Mac again and watched his Adam's apple bob as if he was going to speak.

He didn't.

Murdoc flashed them all a grin. "Oh, and Jack? No matter what happens, just try to remember that Angus did try his very best, and so did Agent Kyser. Go easy on them. Don't forget that that C-list agent you sent me _did_ take two bullets for you, and I can only imagine how MacGyver will feel if he fails in front of a live studio audience. This isn't something either of them will be able to just..." amusement lit up the psychopath's face, "...walk off."

"Keep talkin'," Jack scoffed furiously. "You just keep runnin' your fuckin' mouth while we track your sorry ass down—"

"You won't," Murdoc interrupted him, almost apologetically. "Track me down, that is. Even the talented and beautiful Riley Davis can't untangle the technical net I've woven."

Murdoc turned, then, and looked directly at her. Riley realized with a lurch that it wasn't a recording. It never had been. It was live, and he'd been watching and listening to them the entire time. The assassin frowned at her, his brow furrowing in mock concern.

"Although, I think you might have a better shot if you didn't look so exhausted," he mused, and then his eyebrows lifted as he lowered his chin and offered a knowing smirk. "Maybe you should get some sleep?"

The analyst's blood ran cold, and her fingers froze over the keyboard. All the terror she'd managed to ignore suddenly came back in full force. Jack's eyes flashed with rage, and he opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get a word out, Murdoc gave a spine-chilling smile and continued.

"I'll get back to you promptly with your grade, MacGyver," he promised. And just like that, he was gone.

* * *

When Matty woke up for the second time after the crash, her head was once again pounding, and her neck was stiff. Her eyes seemed glued shut, and, as uncomfortable as she was, she felt content to just lay there for a while, too tired to try and move. However, as she slowly became more and more awake, she remembered what happened, and she realized that she couldn't afford to remain napping, so she forced herself to pry her eyelids apart.

The director found herself on a cold, metal floor, lying on her back. There were no lights, but when she looked around, she could barely see the outlines of a couple shelving units, a workbench, and two recesses in the walls that she could only assume were doors. With a groan, she carefully sat up. The second she moved, the room lit up with blindingly bright lights, and the air was suddenly full of loud, blaring circus music. Matty grimaced, covering her ears and closing her eyes until she adjusted to the unpleasant surroundings. She blinked a few times, then stood up, nearly stepping on the phone and Bluetooth earpiece that had been placed on the floor at her feet. Picking them both up, she found that the phone already had the dial pad open with Mac's number all typed in.

The director let out a sigh that was completely drowned out by the obnoxious music that continued to drill into her aching skull. She did _not_ like the idea of being the latest pawn in Murdoc's sick game. The very idea that he was trying to use her to hurt her people was absolutely infuriating, and evoked a sense of helplessness that she was not used to feeling. If there was one thing she prided herself on being able to do, it was helping and protecting those she cared about. But, clearly, she didn't have a choice in the matter, so after another moment of hesitation, she turned the earpiece on, put it in her ear, and called Mac.

* * *

Mac was once again pacing restlessly, glancing at his watch every few minutes, his anxiety radiating off of him in practically-visible waves. Riley, still trembling after the call with Murdoc thirty minutes earlier, was leaning against the wall by the door, pacing small circles and trying to get a grip again. Bozer was the only one of them not in motion, sprawled out on one of the chairs in the back of the room, staring up at the ceiling and clearly fighting to stay awake—it was nearing three in the morning, and stress could only keep him awake for so long. Jack, much like Riley and his partner, was pacing, but his movements were more angry than anxious. He was pacing the back wall, his face an apparently-permanent scowl, and he was being quite obviously cold towards the younger agent.

Mac glanced in Jack's direction and sighed internally. He was trying really hard not to take his partner's behavior to heart, like Kyser had warned, but it was easier said than done. It felt as though Jack were blaming him for the whole ordeal, and it was hard not to be hurt when the person whose support he needed most had barely spoken to him since Riley called. Jack was the one that said that they needed to stick together, that Murdoc was going to try and drive them apart and they couldn't let him, but he'd shut down at the first sign of the psychopath resurfacing.

That sign, however, had been targeting Riley, the closest thing Jack had to a daughter. She'd called him in tears, utterly terrified; the idea that he could have hurt her clearly scared Jack just as badly as it had scared her. The blond agent tried to remember that, and remember that his partner's obvious anger wasn't actually directed at him, but still—he was used to going into these situations with Jack's full support. This time, he felt alone even with his team in the same room. He felt nearly as alone as he did the night Jack was shot. And that was not how he wanted to feel going up against Murdoc to try and save Matty's life.

Mac again glanced at his watch, his worry level growing. Why hadn't Matty called yet? Murdoc said he hadn't hurt her, but there was no guarantee that that was true; it's not like he was known for his honesty. What if this first test wasn't a test at all, but just a way for Murdoc to get to him, get inside his head, prove that no one—not even Matty, who never even ventured into the field—was safe? What if all he wanted to do was kill her to take away the feeling of safety she gave him? What if he thought what he did to Drew simply didn't drive his point home enough?

Maybe all Murdoc wanted to do was show him—and his friends—what they should fear.

Before Mac's mind could spiral further into the abyss, his phone, at last, began ringing. The young agent froze in his tracks, looking down at the screen. He didn't recognize the number, but who else could it be? He shifted his eyes to Riley urgently.

"Riley, you're up," he told her, and the analyst quickly went to her computer, clearing her throat and getting to work trying to trace the call to its source as Mac answered, putting the call on speaker as Jack and Bozer moved towards him. Immediately, they heard circus music, blaring and distorted through his phone's speaker.

"Matty?" Mac called, flinching away from the noise.

"Figure out a way to turn this shit off, Blondie," their boss snapped irritably, wasting no time with pleasantries. Her team let out a collective sigh of relief, glad that she was indeed not only alive but unhurt—or, at least, not hurt badly enough to make her not act like herself.

"I'm working on it," Mac promised, waiting for the email Murdoc had mentioned so he could see what he was dealing with. Sure enough, seconds after their call connected, Mac got another email that he instantly forwarded to Riley. This time, the subject line read 'It's been 84 years...' The email contained two links and one sentence: 'Sorry for the delay.'

Riley clicked the first link and beamed the image up to the big screen. It showed two camera feeds, both displaying a metal room with two doors on adjacent walls, a workbench, a few shelving units, and, to their relief, Matty. Their boss was standing near the middle of the room, looking pissed off but relatively unhurt. The second link pulled up a window, but whatever camera it was linked to appeared to be offline.

Mac stepped closer to the screen, his eyes searching, trying to find the source of the music.

"Hey, Matty, see if you can find the speakers," he told her, his voice steady and calm, already feeling a bit better now that he, one, knew Matty was okay, and two, was faced with a problem he knew he could solve. They all watched as their boss started to make her way around the room, following the sound back to its source. Finally, she found it behind a crate in the corner and pushed the crate aside to expose the speaker to the room. Mac noticed the brand label and instantly started pulling up the specifications on his phone.

"Okay, Matty, I'm gonna walk you through disabling that thing," the agent sighed, not looking up. "First, you're going to want to—"

He looked up with a start when he heard a loud smashing sound, and saw Matty pounding away at the speaker with a thick hammer that had been hanging on the side of the workbench, effectively getting rid of the awful music. Mac blinked in shock, then made a face and shrugged.

"Or not," he said finally. "That works, too."

"What happened to Kyser?" Matty demanded.

"He's okay," said Mac, telling himself it wasn't a total lie—and, hell, for all they knew, it could end up being the truth. "We found him. He was shot, but he's alive."

Matty let out a breath, visibly relieved. "Good," she nodded. "Good...okay, now, how do I get out of here?"

"I'd say start trying doors," Mac shrugged. "It won't be that easy, but it's a start."

Matty agreed, and as she went about finding something to climb on to reach the wheel that would open the door, Mac studied the room carefully, frowning to himself.

"What are you thinking, Mac?" Bozer asked quietly, having come up beside him.

"That this looks familiar," he grumbled, his eyes narrowing slightly. He had a sense of déjà vu washing over him as he looked at this apparent storeroom, studying it—the walls, the shelves, the doors, everything he could see. When the obvious finally hit him, he frowned, feeling his heart sink.

"Matty, it looks like you're on a ship," he said at last as his boss moved on from the first door—which was locked—to the second.

"Lovely," Matty sighed, stepping onto the plastic milk crate she'd found and grabbing the door's wheel. This time, it turned easily, and she pulled it open. The moment she did, the second feed lit up, showing two side-by-side angles of another room, much like the first except that it appeared to be a generator room. The four agents could see their boss opening the door from one angle, and the rest of the room from the other.

"Um, Mac..." Director Webber sounded a bit nervous.

"Yeah, I see it, Matty," Mac nodded gravely. The ship's hull was being crushed inwards; the metal was groaning loudly, and water was leaking into the room, pooling on the floor. Mac fought to settle his stomach as it twisted into knots. It was starting to make sense, why the emails were titled with _Titanic_ references. Why there was an inner tube left behind at the crime scene. The blond agent recalled what Murdoc had said as he'd attempted to diagnose his deepest baseline fear: " _You weren't enough to save your grandfather, your training officer, or even that adorable little graduate studentsicle."_

The ship that Matty was on, wherever it was, was going to sink, just like the ship Zoe had been on. For his first test, Murdoc was putting him right back in one of his biggest failures to date. Not exactly great for the confidence, but that was surely the point.

"Mac," Riley's voice was quiet, yet full of uneasy recognition; she'd noticed the resemblance between the scenarios, too. Judging by Matty's face, she'd had the same realization.

"I see it, Riley," he assured her.

If Murdoc had modeled this test after what happened to Zoe, then it was surely rigged to fail. Though, why would he do that? Like Kyser said, it was no fun if there was nothing he could do. Unless, of course, he was right before, when he was waiting for Matty to contact them: maybe all Murdoc wanted to do was see Matty dead, to make him think he had a chance only to find out that Murdoc had all the power.

The blond agent shook his head. Even if he was right, it didn't matter; he had to try. And he could be jumping to conclusions. Mac looked down at his phone screen and saw an option to add video to the call, which he quickly did.

"Hey, Matty, do me a favor and accept that video request and show me the door," Mac tried not to let the dread he felt be too audible. Matty did what he asked without question, and when the blond agent got a good look at the door, his face fell.

"The compression gasket is torn," he reported, worry and defeat on his face. "Just like what happened with Zoe Kimura and the R.V. Bancroft."

"Who?" Jack spoke up irritably. Mac fought the urge to flinch.

"You remember I told you about that research vessel in the arctic?" he cast his partner a weary glance over his shoulder. "And how all but one of those on board survived? Murdoc has put Matty in the same situation, and it looks like he's got her playing the part of the one I couldn't save."

All three of his companions deflated, and Matty closed her eyes for a moment. Mac quickly shook his head and cleared his throat.

"Hey, Matty, don't worry about it," he ordered, forcing a smile as he turned off the video sharing to conserve both of their phone batteries. "It's gonna be fine; there's some good news, here. First of all, you haven't been gone _nearly_ long enough for me to think you're actually in the arctic. Second of all, it seems like he's just focusing on the last part of that whole disaster. And third of all, I know exactly how to get you out of there."

"But is that the test?" Matty challenged. "You didn't get anyone _out_ of the ship, Mac; you just prevented it from sinking long enough for the Coast Guard to get there. Is that what he wants you to do now? Just seal me in on the other side of this door? And then what?"

"Matty, I don't..." Mac shook his head, his voice wavering just slightly before he cleared his throat. "I don't know. But this is the best starting point I know of. You're just going to have to trust me. Can you do that?"

Matty hesitated, taking a deep breath, then nodded, "Yes."

"Okay," Mac smiled slightly. "Then here's what I need you to do..."

As Mac started telling her all the ingredients she needed to gather to make the expanding resin and the detonator, he studied the leak in the ship's hull. Based on approximate dimensions of the room and the rate of water flow, they had about an hour before that door _needed_ to be sealed. That was plenty of time. He could do this. Just because it didn't work last time didn't mean it was rigged; Murdoc was just trying to get inside his head and make him doubt himself.

Matty gathered all of the ingredients by the door, the last of which being a canister of diesel fuel. This particular item was on the far side of the flooding room, and the water had gotten deep enough that Matty had to swim over to it and retrieve it from its place on the shelf. Mac narrowed his eyes at the screen, his gut tightening at the sight, though he wasn't sure why. Matty's impatient voice jolted him from his thoughts.

"Mac!" she snapped for what was apparently not the first time. "What now?"

"Right, sorry, um..." Mac shook his head to clear it, checking his watch. The gathering of the ingredients had taken about fifteen minutes. "Start mixing the calcium carbonate with the diesel fuel. The ratio isn't important for this part; just use it all."

Matty nodded, going through the ingredients and selecting the bottle of calcium carbonate, pouring the whole container into the bucket before her. She picked up the canister of diesel fuel, removing the cap and beginning to lift it, but Mac's eyes grew wide as realization crashed into him.

"Matty, stop!" he shouted, just as she was about to start pouring. His boss froze, putting the canister down.

"Mac, what the hell?" Jack demanded. "She doesn't got a whole lot of time before that room fills up!"

"Her buoyancy's off," Mac sighed, rubbing his temples with the heels of his hands. "She was floating way too much. The ocean has an average salt content of about three-point-five percent, and Matty, the way you were floating in the water just now, that water is at least eight or nine percent. You can't just turn up the salinity of the ocean, so either you're in Mono Lake, or this is some kind of trick. And since I'm pretty sure someone would have noticed a sinking ship in the middle of Mono Lake..."

"This is a trick," Bozer concluded. They could hear Riley typing away, probably checking out Mono Lake via satellite just in case.

"Yeah," Mac gave a nod. "Murdoc has to be controlling the water, which means that either this ship is in a closed-down aquarium or something, or this is not a ship at all and the water is being pumped in."

"Well what the hell difference does it make where the water's coming from?" Jack demanded, looking at him like he'd sprouted another head. "Aquarium or pump doesn't change whether or not she drowns!"

"This is _Murdoc_ we're talking about, Jack," Mac growled quietly, shooting an irritated look in his partner's direction. "Of course it makes a difference; he hasn't done a single thing by accident so far, so why would he start now?"

"Jack, just let Mac work it out," Matty ordered through the phone, trying to remain calm. "What are you thinking, Blondie?"

Mac took a moment—trying to ignore how Jack was bristling behind him—and assessed the materials at their disposal, then frowned.

"Shit," he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. "I don't have enough materials to make more than one bomb; if I get the point of this test wrong, it's game over."

"What the hell do you mean, you don't have enough materials?" Jack scoffed. "You could make a bomb out of a stick of gum; how do you not have enough materials?"

"I don't know where everyone seems to have gotten the impression that I am the god of explosives, but I'm not." Mac's voice was a bit sharper than he'd intended, and he forced it to soften when he continued, "I can only work with what I have, and based on what I have, I can make exactly one bomb. I can seal the first door or I can open the other one; that's it."

The blond agent let out a breath, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes for a second as he tried to think. Either it was a ship sinking in water, or Matty was on land and the water was being pumped in. It _had_ to make a difference which one; why else would Murdoc play with the salinity levels if he didn't want Mac to notice? Unless, of course, he just wanted him to waste his time trying to figure out what difference it would make one way or the other.

Mac let his hands drift around the back of his neck and hang there as he lifted his head, looking up at the screen. After a second, he dropped his hands and tilted his head a bit.

"Or, maybe I don't have to choose," he mumbled, then raised his voice so his boss could hear him. "Matty, you see that generator?"

"Kinda hard to miss it," Matty confirmed.

"We're gonna try to make a winch," Mac nodded to himself, working through the math in his head. "Bypass the explosives altogether and just rip the door right off its hinges."

"Brute force; I like it," Jack approved, pacing away from his partner a bit, still very clearly tense.

"Alright, Matty, there are a bunch of wrenches hanging above the work bench," the blond agent sighed. "Grab the one...actually, just grab them all; we may need them later. You need to open that generator up for me, okay? I'll walk you through it from there. And take the materials you gathered and put them on the workbench, too; we'll need them dry if we have to come back to this plan."

"On it," Matty was already gathering up all of the materials and bringing her makeshift step stool—three milk crates held together with cable ties—over to the workbench. She made quick work of placing all of her supplies on the workbench, then climbed up onto its surface, gathering the wrenches. Then she quickly moved into the other room, bringing the step stool with her. After testing a few wrenches, she found the one that fit, and got to work. It became immediately apparent that this task would take some time; Matty was having trouble creating the force she needed to loosen the bolts securing the cover to the generator.

"C'mon, Matty..." Mac urged under his breath, watching the water level continue to rise. Matty's arms were shaking with the effort she was putting into loosening the first bolt, but, sure enough, it was turning. It took a precious ten minutes, but the director finally got all the bolts off and was able to lift the cover off the generator.

"Okay, good," Mac nodded. "Alright, first things first: see that silver thing in the middle, there? That's the alternator. Remove that; when we turn it on, that's gonna make electricity, and I'm sure I don't have to tell you why that's a bad thing."

"No, you do not," Matty chuckled softly, panting. She quickly swapped to the appropriate wrench and got to work. These bolts, however, were refusing to budge. After struggling for a few minutes, Matty let out a frustrated growl.

"I can't get it!" she yelled in irritation.

"Matty, these bolts were probably factory tightened," Mac sighed. "They won't give as easily as the first ones, but they will give eventually."

"The first ones didn't give easily, Mac!" Matty snapped at him, her frustration and terror manifesting in anger. "I'm telling you, it's impossible! I cannot turn these damn bolts!"

"You're gonna have to try," Mac countered helplessly.

"I did try! It's not working!"

"Mac," Jack's voice was low as he turned his back to the screen, his arms folded over his chest. "I think you might need to come up with something else, man."

"I don't have any other ideas, Jack," Mac hissed back, his eyes flashing as he tried with all he had to keep his poker face.

"Look, this is nothing against that big brain of yours," Jack tried to assure him, although Mac couldn't help but be less than convinced. "I'm just...I'm not sure Matty can physically do this, brother. Are you sure there's nothing else we could be trying right now?"

"Of course I'm not sure!" Mac finally snapped, glaring at his partner with a look of desperation, frustration, and fear on his face. "I'm not sure about any of this! I don't know which choice is the right choice or even if any of them are right at all! All I know is that if we choose wrong with these explosives, we don't have another shot, but if we can rig up the winch, it will get the door off."

The blond agent turned back to the screen and let out a breath, forcing his voice to soften. "This is the safest bet, Matty. I know that whole speech just now didn't exactly fill you with confidence, but I'm never sure, okay? I'm never sure, but I am usually right. Look, just try one more time. Take that screwdriver hanging off the edge of the workbench and put it in the hole at end of the wrench, then push against that. That should do the trick. And I mean that mathematically speaking; there's no way that doing this won't allow you to overcome the inertia of a factory-tightened bolt. You've gotta trust me, Matty. Just try."

Matty let out a frustrated growl, then visibly deflated, her shoulders slumping. After a moment, she gave a nod, then left the wrench in place and walked over to retrieve the screwdriver, having to slosh through the water to do so. As she made her way back towards the generator, Mac cast a glance in Jack's direction, finding his partner staring at him. The blond agent gave him an apologetic look, promising they'd talk later without saying a word, then turned his attention back to the screen. Matty was just putting the screwdriver in place. Their boss took a deep breath, then began pushing with all her strength.

The bolt wouldn't budge.

Mac cursed under his breath, his muscles tightening as he clenched his teeth together. A rush of anger ran through him as he pressed tightly-clenched fists to his forehead and let his eyes fall shut.

"Mac, it's not working," although she tried to hide it, Mac—and the rest of the team—didn't miss the growing amount of fear in her voice.

"Murdoc probably tampered with them," Mac told her with dread in his voice, sounding exhausted as he dropped his hands and opened his eyes. He tried to hide the defeat he felt, but he knew Jack had caught it. "Guess we'll have to go back to square one."

"Great," Matty said quietly, her voice flat. Then she cleared her throat and shook her head. "What do you want me to do?"

Mac looked at the screen sympathetically. "Matty, listen, I will get you out of this; I promise," the young agent tried to sound confident—or at least reassuring—and he wasn't sure if he'd managed it. "I'm not gonna let Murdoc kill you, okay? You believe me, right?"

Matty nodded without hesitation, "Of course I do."

"Good," Mac sighed with relief as Bozer stepped closer to the big screen, tilting his head as he examined the images, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Now just give me a minute to work this out. You'll be out of there in no time."

"Hey, Mac," Bozer spoke up. "Check this out."

"What?" Mac stepped up beside him, trying to find what had caught his best friend's attention. Bozer pointed to one of the two angles of the second room, at one of the corners on the far end of the room, along the wall where the water was coming in.

"Those bubbles don't look like they're from the water," he noted. Mac took a closer look at the image, and sure enough, he was right.

"Hey, Matty, you think you can go over there and see what might be making those bubbles?" he asked, gears already turning in his head. Bubbles meant gas, but what kind of gas? His first thought was flammable as opposed to toxic; Matty would probably have noticed adverse effects by that point. As far as flammable gases...the usual suspects—commercially available gases like propane and natural gas—all had a strong smell added to them that Matty definitely would have noticed. So, eliminating all of those options...

"It looks like a pipe," Matty reported, treading water near the corner in question, looking at the distorted image in the water. They watched as she drew a breath and swam down under the surface. When she came back up a few seconds later, she pushed her hair out of her face, wiped her eyes, and nodded.

"It's a pipe with holes drilled into it. Sealed on both ends and welded to the floor. It's...maybe two feet long, an inch and a half in diameter," she reported, swimming back to her step stool and climbing on top of it to keep most of her body above water.

"Okay, well, if it's not toxic or mind-altering, and it's not a commercial flammable gas, then..." Mac muttered to himself, his mind scrambling, trying to figure out what they were dealing with. After a moment, realization struck him.

"Shit," he breathed. "Okay, so I have good news, and I have bad news. The good news is, I figured out why Murdoc messed with the salinity of the water. The bad news is, he did it to facilitate the electrolysis of water."

"Okay, and what does that mean to people who haven't gone to MIT?" Jack's voice had a hint of irritation in it, and Mac felt his jaw tighten.

"You remember how I escaped my cell with El Noche?" he asked, glancing over at his partner.

"You blew the door out," Jack nodded.

"Yeah, and I did that using the electrolysis of water," Mac told him. "Salt acts as an electrolyte; add a current, and you separate the oxygen and hydrogen atoms in a water molecule. Oxygen is heavier than air, so it has been accumulating on the surface of the water, and hydrogen is lighter than air, so it has been accumulating at the ceiling for...probably at forty minutes. Both are obviously flammable, which is...a bit problematic for us."

"How so?" Riley asked, only half paying attention as she continued to try and trace the source of the video.

"Well, if we can't safely get the winch to work, then we're back to either sealing the door or blowing the other door open, both of which require a detonation that would definitely cause another, much larger and deadlier explosion by igniting the gas," Mac explained grimly, already doing the math in his head, trying to figure out how much gas had already accumulated.

"Then let's seal the pipe and stop the gas from escaping," Jack said, as though the solution were obvious.

"Anything we try to plug those holes with is just gonna get forced out by the gas buildup," Mac shook his head, his arms folded across his chest and eyes still distant. After a moment, he blinked and looked up again. "It doesn't matter anyway; with how long the pipe has been submerged, the salinity of the water, and the maximum current he could generate in these conditions without electrocuting Matty, that's still way too much gas accumulation. Even if we managed to stop any more of it from being formed, the damage has already been done. If that gas blows, Matty dies."

"What does that mean?" Matty demanded. "Can I get out of here or not?"

"Yes," Mac stated firmly, leaving no room for doubt. "It might be a bit messier than I wanted, but it'll happen. This doesn't change anything in that respect."

"So what's the plan?" Bozer asked, looking at Mac encouragingly.

"Well, the only way I can think to protect Matty from an explosion would be by putting the water between her and the gas," the blond agent mused. "Which means that sealing the door is officially out; we need the water level to keep rising. So, Matty, I'm gonna need you to grab a few more things for me."

Mac began directing Matty around the rooms, picking up the ingredients they'd need and then instructing her how to mix together an ammonium nitrate-based explosive putty with a booster and craft a detonator, and although his voice was steady and he sounded confident in his plan, his expression was grim. He was looking at the open door, gauging its thickness and calculating how much force they'd need to blow it off. Based off of what he saw, they had just enough material to get the job done, but that was if there were no surprises—such as, for example, Murdoc welding the door shut. If he'd done that, or in some other way reinforced the door, the blast wouldn't be enough.

Just as Matty finished combining all the ingredients in the bucket, Jack grabbed his partner's attention, clearly wanting to ask him about something. Mac nodded quickly, then turned his attention back to the screen.

"Alright, keep mixing that until it gets a consistency similar to Play-Doh," he ordered. "You're doing great, Matty. Almost there."

With this, Mac muted his microphone and turned to Jack expectantly.

"How is this gonna work, Mac?" his partner asked, his tone tense but not confrontational. "I mean, I'm no expert, but I have experienced my fair share of explosions, and even underwater that shockwave is gonna disorient her, maybe even knock her out; what are we gonna do about that?"

"I don't know," Mac admitted. "I don't know how to prevent that, and I'm not sure I even can. But Jack...this is our only shot. Look, I'm pretty sure she's not on a real ship. There has been no ocean movement, as far as I can tell, and the water is choppy today; unless it's a huge ship, which someone would notice sinking, I would have seen some evidence of that. So, if I'm right, and we can blow the door off, then all the water will drain out and carry her with it, and she'll be fine. If I'm wrong and we _can't_ blow the door off, then the water will be too high and it won't matter if it knocks her out; she'll be dead anyway. It sucks, but this is the only play we got. Just...trust me, Jack. Please."

Jack hesitated, studying his partner critically. Finally, he gave a small, nervous nod, stepping back and giving him space. Mac looked at him gratefully, then unmuted his phone's microphone.

"How're we looking, Matty?" he asked.

"Putty's all ready," his boss reported. "Now what?"

"Now, we make the booster," Mac told her. The water was now nearly at the top of the workbench. "A higher-grade, more sensitive explosive that will trigger the putty. It's a quick one; after that, though, I think you're gonna have to find higher ground to make the detonator."

"I think you might be right," Matty agreed, her voice betraying her uneasiness. Mac grimaced, but didn't respond to that, instead walking her through how to construct the booster packet. When it was finished, and the high-grade explosives were neatly packaged in what was essentially coffee filter paper scavenged from the air intake of the now-useless generator, he had her place the package on the tallest shelf of the shelving unit beside the workbench that she could reach, in an effort to keep it dry.

By then, the water had risen over the top of the workbench, and all of the remaining supplies had been moved to the shelving unit. Mac could hear his boss's anxiety level rising with every breath.

"Matty, just stay with me," Mac urged. "We have plenty of time to get this done. You can do this; just stay calm."

"Calm," Matty scoffed out a laugh. "Right."

"Yeah, well, try," Mac chuckled. "Okay, now we're gonna make the detonator, so grab that walkie-talkie for me."

Matty did as she was told, picking up the device from the shelf.

"Now, we're gonna pop the chasis off—maybe just a _bit_ more gently than you did with that speaker," the blond agent instructed, pleased when he managed to get a smile and a bit of laughter from her. "After that, you're gonna want to pull the orange and yellow wires off the board. You don't have to be too careful; we're gonna strip those."

The director had already grabbed a small flathead screwdriver, anticipating what he was going to ask, and she worked it into the seam of the walkie-talkie body. "I don't even have this thing cracked open yet, and you remember what color the wires are?"

Mac didn't take his eyes off the monitor, but he lifted his phone a bit closer to his mouth so that he could speak more quietly.

"How could I forget?"

It wasn't quietly enough; Jack still heard him. "What do you mean, 'remember'? You've pulled this trick before?"

Mac opened his mouth, to respond, to explain, but something behind him captured Jack's attention, and low speaking voices met his ears. Probably Riley, explaining it to Jack and Bozer. How he'd walked another relatively-short woman through this exact same scenario.

Matty didn't question him; she just snapped the plastic body open and located the two wires he'd called out. And they were there; it was the exact same model that had been on the R.V. Bancroft.

How did Murdoc know? How could he have possibly known everything—right down to the tiniest detail—about what happened on that ship? And if he did know, and he knew how this had turned out the first time, how could Mac trust that this walkie-talkie was actually going to work? Clearly he'd tampered with the generator bolts; what was stopping him from tampering with this? There were no guarantees.

Matty was very obviously thinking the same thing, even as she struggled with the wire strippers. "Mac...this is probably a bad time to ask, but do you know what went wrong last time?"

Mac hesitated, swallowing hard, and forced his voice to steady before he spoke.

"No," he admitted. "I have theories, but...listen. Murdoc clearly knows what happened, and I'll get to the bottom of that mystery after we get you out of there. Still, this won't be any fun for him if he's stacked the deck too much in his favor. He knows we're taking a risk, trying this again when it clearly isn't foolproof. It should have worked then—hell, it _did_ work then, on my end—and it will work now. Just...try to keep the battery compartment completely dry, if you can."

The look Matty gave the camera would have made him laugh, if the circumstances had been less dire.

"I'll get right on that," she quipped, using the heel of her thumb to push her sopping hair out of her eyes.

The low-pitched murmuring behind him had stopped, and Mac didn't dare look back at any of them. He could imagine their faces well enough. Besides, Matty had finally managed to strip both wires.

"Alright, now, strip both ends of both of those coils of wire, and attach one end from each coil to one of the wires you just stripped," he instructed. "It doesn't matter which one goes where; both are going to the same place."

Matty had gotten the hang of the wire strippers, and made quick work of this task.

"Perfect," Mac's lips twitched into an anxious smile. "Now, listen: I'm almost positive you're not on an actual ship, so I'm gonna ask you to punch a hole out of the wall instead of blowing the door open."

"I don't follow," Matty frowned in confusion, looking at the water—which was getting ready to rise over the top of the workbench—worriedly.

"Well, I wouldn't put it past Murdoc to have somehow reinforced the door to make it harder to blow out," Mac sighed. "And since we get exactly one shot at this, I'm not going to take that chance. And if you're not actually on a ship, the walls probably aren't as strong as they seem. So, take that putty and start making a new door; it's safe to touch with your hands. Try to get as close to the floor as you can."

Matty took a deep breath, then grabbed a handful of putty and jumped into the water, swimming down to the floor and using the leg of the workbench to help herself stay down while she started putting the putty in place. By the time she was done, the putty outlined a roughly four-and-a-half-foot-tall door shape, and the water reached just above Matty's ankles when she stood on the workbench.

"Great work, Matty," Mac approved. "Now, take that booster, stick it halfway down one of the sides of your new door, and cover it with the last of the putty. Then take the two wires of our detonator and insert the stripped ends into the booster—and make sure you reach the booster through the putty."

"On it," Matty nodded, picking up the small coffee filter package she'd hung on the board behind the workbench among the tools, containing the small amount of a stronger explosive that would ignite the putty she'd made, as well as the last heaping handful of putty and the long coils of wire connected to the walkie-talkie they were using as a detonator. The director made quick work of her task and returned to her place on top of the workbench in about a minute.

"Alright, now, put the walkie-talkie in the plastic bag and tape it shut," Mac instructed, his heart starting to pound. "Make sure no water can get to it. Leave the wires out. Then, we've gotta wait a little bit, let the water fill up so you have more of a cushion against the blast."

"Got it."

Mac watched nervously as his boss did as she was told, making sure the device was sealed off from the water around her. Then, they had no choice but to wait about ten minutes by Mac's estimate, until the water was up to about Matty's shoulders as she stood on the workbench.

"So, how is Kyser, really?" the director asked hesitantly.

"Matty..." Mac sighed wearily.

"Hey, we've got time," Matty's voice was just a bit sharp, like she was not in the mood to argue, and she wasn't. "What else is there to talk about?"

"Yeah," the blond agent's voice was small. "Yeah, I guess you have a point..."

"What happened to him?"

Mac heaved another sigh, knowing that he couldn't very easily lie to her, even over the phone, but not wanting to stress her out more than she already was.

"Well, like I told you, he was shot," he began finally. "Twice. One of those shots was through his hand. According to him, he'd been reaching for his gun at the time. Bullet severed some tendons, but his doctor thinks he'll make a full recovery. He's scheduled for surgery to repair it tomorrow—er, today, technically. He busted a couple ribs in the crash and has a bit of a concussion, but he's gonna be okay."

"Well, that's good," Matty seemed relieved.

"He also managed to stab Murdoc in the leg," Mac added.

"And he's getting a raise _and_ a party when I get back."

All five of them laughed at that, and then Matty spoke again and silenced them all.

"What about the second shot?"

Mac hesitated, swallowing hard and shifting his feet.

"Matty, maybe we should just focus on the matter at hand," Jack began. Matty was having none of it.

"What about the second shot?" she repeated, her voice sharp.

Mac looked down and shifted his feet, taking a deep breath before lifting his head and speaking.

"The second shot was a gut shot," he explained. "The, ah...the bullet hit his spine. They're calling it an incomplete spinal injury; he's got partial paralysis of his legs."

Matty's eyes fell shut, and she let out a shuddering breath.

"Hey, but nothing's certain yet," Mac rushed to add. "It's an incomplete injury; he has some feeling and some movement in his legs. His doctor says that there's a very real possibility that he could partially or even fully recover. He's not giving up, so we can't, either."

"And you call that 'okay'?" Matty's voice took on an angry edge. "The agent I dragged into that trap may never walk again and you're here telling me he's gonna be okay?!"

"He's gonna be fine," Jack sounded a lot more confident than Mac knew he felt. "Whether he walks again or not, we're gonna take care of him. He'll be alright."

"And it's not your fault, Matty," Mac added.

"I chose him to come with me," their boss snapped. "He tried to warn me that it was a trap, but I didn't listen. I told him to keep driving. If I'd just listened to him—and listened to my gut—he wouldn't be in this mess, and maybe I wouldn't, either. If it's not my fault, then whose is it?"

"Oh, I dunno," Bozer shrugged, stepping closer to his best friend. "Maybe the guy who shot him in the first place?"

Matty sighed, but didn't respond. By then, the water had risen to her chest, so Mac cleared his throat.

"Matty, I'd love to give you an extensive breakdown of Kyser's current condition, but we've gotta get back to work," he prompted gently. "You with me?"

Director Webber hesitated, then gave a nod and swallowed hard.

"Okay," he sighed. "Now, here's the hard part. You've gotta get as far away from this explosion and as close to the floor as possible. The shelving units are bolted to the ground, so try one of those. Hold on tight if you can, but if you can't, the water should carry you out, so it shouldn't matter too much. Since you're going to have to go underwater to detonate this bomb, we...we're gonna lose communication. If the shockwave doesn't damage the phone or the earpiece, we'll still be able to talk to you, but you won't be able to respond. And if...if this doesn't work, Matty..."

"Then I'm literally dead in the water," Matty finished his thought for him, her tone almost comically casual. "I gathered that."

"Right..." Mac confirmed grimly, his stomach turning over.

"Listen, Blondie, if this doesn't work, don't beat yourself up over it," Matty ordered, her voice both firm and compassionate. "You did what you could. You all did. It's no one's fault but Murdoc's."

"I don't know about that," Mac laughed humorlessly, feeling his throat get tight. His boss was already swimming for her position with the detonator in hand, letting the wires uncoil behind her.

"Mac, if you're gonna tell me Kyser's condition isn't my fault, then my situation certainly isn't yours."

"Well, you didn't pull the trigger and shoot Kyser," Mac pointed out. "If this doesn't work, you'll...you'll die as the direct result of an explosion I helped make."

"Someone smack him for me," Matty rolled her eyes. Back at the Phoenix, her team laughed slightly.

"But, seriously, guys..." Matty's tone sobered, and she looked up at the camera with a look in her eyes that made Mac's stomach churn. "If I don't make it back, I need you guys to know that it was never your fault. I need you to—"

"Save your goodbye speech, Matty," Jack growled, though there was a slight waver in the words. "You won't be needing it for a long time."

"Thanks, Dalton," Matty scoffed, her voice trembling a bit. Then she took a quick breath. "Well, here goes nothing. Wish me luck."

"Good luck," Riley and Bozer said in unison, while Mac and Jack both stayed silent. They all watched, frozen, as Matty inhaled deeply, then dove under the surface. A few seconds later, the bomb detonated, and they saw both rooms get engulfed in orange flame a split second before the camera feeds cut out, the windows closing completely.

"Matty?" Mac's voice shook when he said his boss's name. He received no answer, so he tried again, "Matty!"

"What happened?" Bozer asked no one in particular. "Was that it? Did we win?"

"I don't know," Mac could feel panic rising up in him as he spoke, and he quickly brought his phone closer to his lips. "Matty!"

"Riles," Jack turned to look at the analyst. "You find her?"

"The signal's gone," Riley shook her head, fear on her face. "I couldn't pin it down; I'm sorry."

Mac's chest grew tight as he felt the color drain from his face. He was as sure as he could possibly be that his solution was the right one, but still...did he just get Matty killed?

The blond agent looked down at his phone, noting that his call with Matty had been disconnected, and stared anxiously at the screen, waiting for some kind of contact from Murdoc. It felt like hours had passed before, at last, his phone notified him of a new email. He opened his inbox immediately, and found an email with just the word "Grade" in the subject line. Mac drew a quick deep breath before he tapped on it. He then skimmed over the body of the message, just trying to determine whether he was right or not. Thankfully, he was, and after determining this his eyes were drawn to a set of coordinates a the bottom of the message.

"Is tac ready to go?" Mac asked his partner.

"Simmons and Carter both have their teams standing by," Jack confirmed, his eyes hopeful.

"Perfect," Mac let out a breath, sending the coordinates to both tac team leaders before lifting his head to look at his team. "We were right. Murdoc sent her location."

Bozer and Riley both let out relieved and elated noises, but Jack turned to Mac.

"What else did he say?" the former Delta asked, his voice quiet. Mac swallowed hard and looked back down at his phone, and Jack moved so he could read over his shoulder.

 _Very good, Angus. Though, not your best work, I have to say. A few close calls. Still, points for creativity, and you did, ultimately, get the correct answer. I'm glad to see you did study; let's just hope for your sake that you study a bit harder for the next exam. All that being said, I give this effort a solid B. You passed, but don't think it'll always be this easy. I'll see you soon, MacGyver._

"Oh, I am going to kill this bastard if it's the last thing I ever do." Jack muttered.

Mac shook his head, putting his phone away and going to sit down in one of the open chairs, his body collapsing in pure exhaustion. His head was spinning with a million thoughts, the tension in his weary muscles refusing to release. He couldn't keep doing this. He barely saved Matty this time—and, really, he wasn't even certain she was okay—so if the next 'exam' was going to be even harder...

The blond agent blinked, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He couldn't think about that now; if he did, he'd just drive himself insane. For now, it was over. For now, that was enough. And, thanks to Kyser, Murdoc likely needed time to recover from this exam just as badly as Mac did, so for now, he could breathe.

For now, he'd won.

* * *

It was the second time in twenty-four hours that Jack had gathered in a hospital room with his friends and colleagues, waiting for news of another friend's condition, and he had to say, he was getting damn near sick and tired of it. Matty was unconscious in her hospital bed, but Doctor Chang said she was going to be just fine. When Simmons, Carter, and the rest of tac found her, she was lying in the middle of an old manufacturing plant near the coast. The place had been totally cleared out, apart from a large, newly-created metal structure that had been used to simulate the two rooms of the ship. Mac had been right on many counts, including that the door had been welded shut and that the water was being pumped in. The director had been bleeding and unconscious, lying on her back on the damp concrete floor, but the source of the blood—and lack of consciousness—was simply a nasty bump on the head, right along the hairline. She'd have a headache, but she'd be alright.

The former Delta glanced across the room at Mac, who was sitting beside Matty's hospital bed, his eyes distant and hands clasped in front of his face as his knee bounced restlessly. The kid looked like crap; his shirt was wrinkled, his hair was a mess, and the circles under his eyes were dark and heavy. He looked like he was one step away from going right over the edge. They hadn't had the chance to talk yet, but that was mostly because Jack knew that trying to get him alone at the moment would be next to impossible; he wouldn't leave without first knowing that Matty would be okay. Until she woke up, they were just going to have to suffer in silence.

"Well, don't you all look like a cheerful bunch," Matty's slightly-gravelly voice drew all eyes to her, and the four agents smiled widely.

"Matty, hey," Mac spoke first, his relief evident. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," Matty told him honestly. "Like I was just in a car accident and then blew up a room while I was still in it."

Everyone in the room laughed, and Mac gave a shrug. "That's fair."

Matty looked around, and, realizing she wasn't at the Phoenix, frowned and asked, "Where am I?"

"At the hospital," Riley told her. "Simmons didn't want to take any chances, so he brought you here to make sure you were alright."

"Kyser is right next door," Bozer added. "Er, well, he will be; he went into surgery about twenty minutes ago. Jack got tac to secure this floor, and Ramirez and Locke secured the OR. Murdoc is not getting anywhere near either one of you any time soon. Not without having to go through a whole bunch of pissed-off, revenge-driven members of the tac team."

"Good," Matty approved. "And what's the word on me?"

"Concussion, some bumps and bruises, and a nasty cut on your head, but no broken bones, no lasting damage," Mac reported.

"Do you remember anything?" Jack asked, speaking for the first time.

"Not really," their boss shook her head. "I got knocked out in the crash. I woke up briefly in the car with Murdoc, but then he drugged me, and I didn't wake up again until I was on that boat." She let out a weary sigh. "Except that it wasn't a boat, was it?"

"Nope," Mac shook his head. "Just an elaborate set Murdoc put together."

"Of course," Matty grumbled. "Well, after I detonated the bomb, the wall burst open, all the water went rushing out, and I lost my grip on the shelf, so I got swept away with it. I hit my head on something on the way out, I guess, because I don't remember ever seeing the outside of that thing."

"You didn't miss much," Bozer promised.

"Any leads on Murdoc?" Matty looked hopeful, but Riley shook her head grimly.

"Nothing," she told her, defeat in her tone. "He's gotta be working with someone, because his digital tracks were covered like a pro, far beyond anything he could pull off alone. I'll keep trying, but there's not a whole lot I can do at this point."

"Hey, guys, maybe we should let Matty rest for a bit," Jack suggested, though he clearly wasn't asking. When their boss opened her mouth to say something he cut her off, "Matty, you've just been through a helluva lot; you need to get some rest. I'll go let the doc know you're awake. Mac," he shifted his gaze to his partner, and Mac looked over at him almost hesitantly, "walk with me."

Mac paused, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, then nodded and stood up, giving Matty a smile.

"I'll be right back," he promised. Matty gave an understanding nod, then both partners left the room. Doctor Chang was just coming around the corner towards them, so Jack quickly filled him in. As the doctor headed into Matty's room, the former Delta clapped a hand down on Mac's shoulder and guided him into Kyser's vacant room.

"I don't think I need to tell you that we need to talk, brother," Jack sighed as he closed the door behind them.

"No," Mac shook his head. "No, you don't."

They were both silent for a moment, trying to figure out where to start. Mac found his voice first.

"Listen, Jack, I'm sorry," the blond agent told him, guilt in his words. "I was wrong...well, I've been wrong a _lot_ recently. I was wrong about securing Riley's place, I was wrong _twice_ about who Murdoc was going to target first, I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier..."

"Hey, hey, Mac, no," Jack cut in before Mac could ramble any further. "You got nothin' to be sorry for, brother. You hear me? Nothing. I'm the one who should be apologizing, here. I've been an ass to you since Riley called. You did nothing wrong, man. You had Riley's place locked down as tight as you possibly could. And listen, as much as you may want to, you can't protect all of us at all times; there was nothing you could have done to prevent this. You got it?"

Mac hesitated, looking at him like a scared kid, just trying to gain some control over this chaos. After a second or two, he nodded.

"Good," Jack approved. "Now, look, Mac...the two of us really screwed the pooch on this one. We were at each other's throats the whole time; we gave that bastard exactly what he wanted. I know neither one of us was in our right mind throughout this whole mess...but we really need to make sure we practice what we preach. Or else next time, it might not turn out as well as it did."

"I know," Mac let out a breath. "He kicked our asses back there, Jack."

"Yeah," Jack couldn't help but laugh, the sound bitter and angry. "Yeah, he did. And I can't tell ya how sorry I am, Mac. I did not have your back when you needed me. There's no excuse for that. I let that bastard get in my head, and I let you pay the price for it."

"Yeah, but then, when you got it together, I was the one shutting you out," Mac reminded him. "Jack we've been out of sync for a while, now; this just showed us how much. And I don't know what to do about it. I don't...I don't know how to fix any of this."

"Well, I think that we may need a few more ground rules, on top of the 'no lying' thing," the older agent suggested.

"Such as?" Mac lifted an eyebrow.

"Such as, you need to relax and not insist on doing everything yourself," Jack stated bluntly. "And I know that's easier said than done, brother, but you work yourself any harder and your brain's gonna be fried the next time this bastard shows his face, and then what are we gonna do? Start sharing the load; the rest of us want to help anyway. Stop trying to say you're fine all the time, too; we have eyes, Mac. We know you're struggling, and that's okay; we can help. And you know that I will do my best not to let this bastard rattle me like this again, but if he does, you call me out, got it?"

"Got it," Mac nodded.

"And hey, I know I haven't been cleared for the field, and I know you don't want me to get myself hurt more than I already am, but for the sake of my sanity, please stop handling me with kid gloves," Jack continued. "It's infuriating. I may not be a hundred percent, yet, but I can still have your back. And probably the most important thing, stop looking at me—at all of us—with this look in your eyes like you killed our dog or something. He's gonna use that guilt against you and it's not your fault. Saying that Murdoc being obsessed with you is your fault is like saying there oughta be tits on a bull; it's ridiculous."

"I know," Mac let out a heavy breath, visibly deflating as he dropped down into one of the chairs by the door. "God, I know, Jack, but..."

"No buts," Jack shook his head. "Mac, you are so much better than this guy. No one in the world has got a brain like yours. I've been working with you for, what? Six years, now? And in all that time, no matter how insane the situation, you have never let me down. Not once. So why should I or anyone else—including you—think that would change now? He's obsessed with you because you can and have beaten him; honestly, _he_ has more faith in you than you seem to, right now. Keep in mind, Murdoc has never gotten away on your watch, only once he's been out of your control. Of everyone, you can beat him."

Mac stared at him, something like relief or gratitude—or both—on his face.

"That said," Jack sighed, making Mac's face fall just a bit before he continued. "You gotta let us in, Mac. To tell you the truth, we'd really like to be looped in on this. Since, y'know, he's coming after all of us, not just you. We've been trying to help you for a month, brother; let us. You could probably get a lot more done with five pairs of eyes instead of just one, too. So, do we have a deal?"

Mac paused, seeming conflicted, but he nodded anyway. Jack's face broke out into a goofy grin, which put a smile on Mac's face, too.

"Good," Jack approved. "Then, let me be the first to say, that was damn good work today, brother."

"Thanks, Jack," Mac said sincerely. His body looked less tense than Jack had seen it in a month, and the sight made his grin grow even wider.

"Anytime," the former Delta dipped his head. "Now c'mon; let's go join the others before Kyser gets out of surgery and Ramirez comes and talks our ears off."

Mac laughed, the sound genuine for the first time since he was shot, as far as Jack knew, and the blond agent got to his feet, "Let's go, then."

The two partners made their way back to Matty's room, falling into step beside each other as naturally as breathing. Neither could say they were totally back to normal, but this was as close as they'd been in a long time. For now, that was enough.

* * *

 **That was so damn long and I applaud you for making it to the end. Now, you may have noticed that I marked this story complete. That's because it is; this is just exam 1. The second exam will be its own story, and it is being written (or at least plotted) as we speak—er, well...as _I_ type. I'm very excited to continue this story line and I hope you stick with me until the final exam. I promise, it'll be one hell of a ride. Please let me know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you soon for the next one!**


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